Visions of Death
by Shannon Vega
Summary: COMPLETE! An Irish seer sent to aid Merlin is locked with Gueneviere in Marius’s dungeon. Will her visions help or hinder the Knights and can she change their fates? LancelotFulcina, ArthurGueneviere, BorsVanora, and DagonetOFC. NO SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Visions of Death

**Author:** Shannon Vega

**Rating and warnings:** M due to sex, torture, death and adult themes.

**Summary and/or pairing:** _**An Irish seer sent to aid Merlin is locked with Gueneviere in Marius's dungeon. Will her visions help or hinder the Knights and can she change their fates? Lancelot/Fulcina, Dagonet/OFC, Arthur/Gueneviere, Bors/Vanora**_

**Feedback**: By all that is holy, please send me feedback. Either through this site or through email at _**Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.**_

Author's Notes: I hope you enjoy this story.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter One: Rescue**

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Brigid let her forehead fall against the damp stone walls of the cell, wondering why the Goddess had given her Sight but never the ability to foresee her own fate. No, she thought, my Gift, as it is called, is only good for others.

The visions came back unbidden. A wintry pass, an icy lake, a handsome giant breaking the ice with an axe and plunging into the icy water after crossbow bolts had pierced his leg, shoulder and chest. A fierce army of Saxon warriors falling through the ice as well. She moaned and slammed her forehead against the stone, praying for unconsciousness. But not before the second came screaming before her eyes. A slim man more of sinew and muscle than bulk being toyed with by a monstrous giant with blonde hair. The stab wounds and the final blow, blood streaming from every bit of his body. A hawk screaming above the smoke and blood. She squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into her own palms. And, finally, the third. Black curls and two swords. He found a small man with a braided beard. Turning to other warriors, the man he had fought grabbed a crossbow and sent a bolt into his chest. She let a moan escape as the visions ended.

"Brigid?" whispered Gueneviere, hearing the dull thud against the wall of the cell they shared. "A vision?"

Brigid nodded then realized that the darkness eliminated Gueneviere seeing her. "Yes, Gueneviere. Visions that makes no sense about men I have never seen." She moved across the cold stone so that she sat next to the Woad woman. "I am truly sorry, Gueneviere. Were my Gift actually of use, I might have foreseen that Marius would capture us." The sarcasm and anger were clear, despite the fact that Brigid's voice, like Gueneviere's was roughened from dehydration and screaming from torture.

Gueneviere sighed and shook her head. "You could not have known, Brigid. And you are more than your Gift." She reached for the older woman with her bound hands and draped her arms around Brigid's neck. "Merlin shall rescue us, Brigid."

Brigid shivered and nodded against Gueneviere. "Of course he shall," she whispered. She didn't trust herself to speak any more. She didn't have the heart to tell the Woad that they would likely perish like the others in the dungeon.

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The sound of the door being broken in woke Gueneviere. She nudged Brigid, waking the Hibernian. "Wake, Brigid. Something is happening."

Brigid blinked groggily. "What is it, Gueneviere? I was having a lovely dream."

Gueneviere laid her fingers over Brigid's mouth, silencing her. "Someone has broken into our prison."

Torches danced in the hallway. The sound of steel being unsheathed, the sound of men's footsteps.

"Gawain," came a distant voice. Brigid moved closer to the iron gate that held them within their oubliette. She looked at Gueneviere, for the first time in days able to see the woman who shared her fate.

"They do not sound Roman," she whispered.

Gueneviere shook her head and motioned for them to listen..

"By the smell, they are all dead. " The voice paused. "And you…You even move, you join him."

Gueneviere smiled. How she wished she could look at the priest's face.

"ARTHUR!" shouted a strong voice. Brigid shuddered--it was the voice from her vision!

"Gods above, is it he?" she whispered, crawling to the grate.

Gueneviere looked at the seer sent by the druids to aid Merlin in defeating the Saxons. "Who, Brigid?"

Brigid shook her head, trying to listen harder.

"You must not fear me," came the same voice and Brigid heard the Woad boy, Lucan, whimper.

Suddenly the torches were at the gate that she and Gueneviere peered out of and Brigid reared back, the flames blinding her as she scurried deeper into the oubliette.

A man was peering in, horror in his eyes as he spotted Gueneviere. Oh, that he should see her fit and beautiful, thought Brigid. Another man looked down, his own eyes mirroring that of his friend. He spotted Brigid and took the torch handed to him by his friend.

The clang of metal on metal filled the small cell and suddenly the gate fell open. Then Arthur was reaching for Gueneviere. Brigid scrambled forward, trying to g et to her friend. "No!" she croaked, grabbing at the tattered clothing of Gueneviere. "Leave her! She's guilty of no crime!" she whispered as she fell onto the stones, every inch of her body crying out in agony.

Suddenly hands lifted her from the ground and she was being carried from the dungeon. "No," she whimpered, now sure that she was again to be tortured. "Not again." Suddenly she was lying on the snow and she dared to open her eyes. Above her crouched a handsome man with dark curls. She smiled and whispered, "Dathúil." She let her eyes roam, taking in her new surroundings, grey eyes still too sensitive for the dim British light. She looked to her left to find Gueneviere in the arms of a---Roman? She started to push herself up, only to be restrained by the man who held her.

"Calm, lady. You are safe," offered Lancelot, his brown eyes darkening.

Brigid watched Gueneviere worriedly. Her friend was fingering the Roman's cloak as she looked up at him.

"I'm a Roman officer. You're safe now. You're safe," he announced to Gueneviere.

Brigid stiffened. A Roman officer? She looked back up at the man who held her, eyes narrowing. Was it…she gasped and reared back from the knight holding her…it was him! She crawled backwards, attempting to flee the knight whose death she had seen. She looked frantically around. The gentle giant with the axe was tending Lucan. A whimper left her lips as she looked up and found the third, the lean man with the wicked blade, staring down at her with the tattoos upon his cheekbones. "Sweet Goddess, what is this evil?" she whispered to herself.

Meanwhile, Arthur ordered the priests walled back up with their victims.

"Brigid?" whispered Gueneviere as Arthur helped her to her feet, suddenly realizing that the Irishwoman was shaking. She leant down to her, eyes meeting Brigid's. "Come, lady, we have been rescued." She gave her hand to Brigid, carefully lifting her with the hand without the dislocated fingers.

Brigid nodded and let herself be lifted by the taller woman. "By walking dead men," she breathed.

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Translations:

dathúil: handsome


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: See chapter one for disclaimer. I still own nothing save a car, a husband, a daughter, and soon a house. I do not own the knights. _

_Author's Note: Thank you to my wonderful reviewers. _

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter Two: The Wagon**

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Dagonet crouched beside the boy, worry filling his blue eyes.

The cart moved slowly and, for once, Brigid was glad for an enclosed space. She glanced to her right, finding the handsome giant of her vision tending to Lucan and slowly lifted herself from the floor of the wagon. "How is he?" she whispered, her voice still raw.

Dagonet let his eyes sweep over the second woman they had dragged from the dungeon. "He burns. What is his name?" he asked, one large hand resting on Lucan's head as if to draw the heat from the frail boy.

Brigid smiled softly. "Lucan. His name is Lucan." She crawled towards the boy, settling herself beside him. "You set his arm?" she asked, noting the sling that stabilized the boy's arm.

Dagonet nodded. "How was it broken?" he asked, motioning to Lucan's arm.

Brigid sighed. "Marius's men." She went no further, instead pressing her own palm to Lucan's forehead. She looked towards Gueneviere, stiffening when she saw Arthur with her. Her eyes narrowed, watching Arthur with suspicion.

"That is Arthur," offered Dagonet, watching the woman.

Brigid swung her eyes around to meet his. "He is Roman."

"Some of your fingers are out of place. I have to push them back. If I don't do this, there's a chance you may never use them again." She heard the man known as Arthur tell Gueneviere, then heard Gueneviere's pants then muffled screams as her fingers were reset.

Dagonet caught hold of her arm, shaking his head.

"You are Arthur of the knights of the great wall," panted Gueneviere.

Brigid stared at Dagonet, her mouth slightly agape. _Knights of the Great Wall? _Gueneviere had told her stories. Goddess above, every Briton she had met since landing on this cursed rock had spoken of the Knights of the Great Wall in hushed tones bordering on reverence. She shook her head and closed her mouth. "_Milis Bandia_," she muttered in Gaelic, dropping her head into her hands.

A touch on her arm roused her and she found herself being gazed upon with concern by Dagonet. "What pains you?" he asked.

Brigid shook her head and looked outside the cart. "Where are we going?" she asked, ignoring the question.

Dagonet sighed. "Hadrian's Wall."

Brigid nodded and pulled her clothes tighter against her. "What is your name?" she asked, curiosity alight in her gray eyes.

"Dagonet, Brigid." He took in the woman seated before him, noting the blood red hair, the gray eyes, the fair skin dotted with freckles, the full breasts, narrow waist and wide hips. Even with the bruises upon her neck and cheek, she was still a beautiful woman. He reached out to touch the bruises around her neck.

Not surprisingly, the bruises seemed to correspond to a man's hands.

Brigid pulled away, grey eyes suddenly wary. "I am fine," she stated firmly and paused. "How do you know my name?"

Dagonet motioned with his head towards the now sleeping Gueneviere. "She called you Brigid."

Brigid nodded. "My thanks, Dagonet, for your aid." She looked harder at the much taller man who knelt beside her. "You wield an axe?" she asked carefully.

Dagonet nodded. "Aye. Why do you ask?"

Brigid caught her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. _So_, she thought, _now my task is to convince this man that I am not mad. Else I will have no chance of saving this man_.

TBC...

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Translations:

Milis: sweet

Bandia: Goddess

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**To My Fabulous Reviewers:**

homeric: I'm glad that you find Brigid interesting. I'm a firm believer in creating interesting characters and, I have to admit, I have a soft spot for Dagonet. I hope you continue to enjoy. Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback.

Miluielwen: Thank you! I promise not to go overboard on the magic--as far as I'm concerned, the characters are the story, not a lot of hocus-pocus. Thank you for your faith...I promise not to disappoint. I can't promise that I'll be able to save Dag...he does have a tendency for blind loyalty to Arthur. Nevertheless, I'll try. He is one of my favorite. I also promise to not go into Mary-Suedom and will result every impulse. I've never liked perfection and Mary Sues are too perfect for my taste. Again, thank you! With feedback like this, this story cannot be anything but good.

shariena: Great! I'm glad that you like it and, per your request, here's another chapter. Sorry it's so brief. But more will come.

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	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: This is the quickest that I've ever written a story and I must admit that two things are driving this: taking paid vacation and wonderful readers who are giving me fantastic feedback. It's true, feedback leads to more chapters. Of course if you hate the story, sending feedback helps me to fix the problems. I apologize that this chapter is so short. On my honor, more is coming.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

Chapter Three: The Warning

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Brigid wrapped the sheet around herself, her wet hair hanging down her back. Gueneviere was now being bathed by Fulcina, Marius Honorius's wife. Already Fulcina, the only bright light in Marius Honorius's tiny world, had donated two simple gowns, a cloak and a shawl for Gueneviere and she to wear. She fingered the fine wool, amazed at its quality. How she would ever repay Fulcina for keeping them alive in the dungeon, not to mention caring for them in the sick wagon?

She dropped the sheet and quickly donned the dress and a pair of slippers before dropping down from the wagon. Her wet hair still hung down her back and she quickly braided the thick hair into a loose plait. Satisfied that her hair would not get in her eyes, she wrapped the borrowed shawl around her shoulders and took a deep breath. It felt good to be out in the weather after being in a sick wagon for far too long.

She walked towards the sound of voices, careful to not let her presence be known. The shawl, though light, felt good around her head and shoulders, shielding her from the rain that fell. She hurried, knowing that she would have to find something for she and Gueneivere to eat.

The path was dark and quiet but a light flickered ahead. Brigid stepped carefully, her feet finding sure tread in the dirt between patches of snow.

"It is here, given to us by the Pope. These people, they send an army for us," growled Marius in front of the fire that he and his mercenaries had commandeered. He looked up and Brigid caught the Roman's eye. A vision suddenly flashed and she staggered, reaching for the tree at her side. In the vision, Marius was holding Lucan, a knife at the boy's throat. Next, An arrow winged across the clearing and embedding itself in Marius's heart. Finally, Marius dropped like a stone. As the vision cleared, Brigid straightened, no longer needing the support of the tree. Blinking, she looked up and smiled brightly at Marius before crossing the short distance to the fire. She stood just within it's light, hands hanging loose at her side to show she was unarmed.

"What do you want, Pagan?" bit out Marius, standing on his stubby legs to face the woman he had so recently held in his dungeons.

Brigid smiled broadly. "I come to warn you Marius. Do not do what you intend or on the morrow your grave will be dug." Her smile reached all the way to her grey eyes, unnerving the Roman. He drew back his hand and the backhanded slap could be heard across the clearing.

"Heathen, you should have burned," he grated out standing over the now sprawled Brigid.

Brigid smiled up at her former jailer, a beatific look on her face. "Thank you, Marius. Your death shall save many." She slowly got to her feet, the mercenaries who had crossed to her shoving her away from the fire.

Dagonet, who had watched the entire exchange, crossed to her, sword in hand. "Are you alright?" he asked, looking up to meet Marius's eyes with barely concealed disgust.

Brigid pressed fingers to her lip, blood wetting her tongue. "I am well, brave knight. Marius will attack you tomorrow," she advised, her hand gripping his bicep as she whispered to him. "Do not fear for yourself or Lucan, whatever may happen."

Dagonet stared down at the woman, blue eyes concerned. Was she mad? "You are still ill, Brigid. You must rest."

Brigid shook her head. "The last thing that I am is ill or tired, Dagonet." She released his arm and wandered off, unaware that her swaying hips had caught more than one pair of eyes.

She wandered a while until she found a second fire. A ring of stones surrounded the fire that had been lit, a trio of rabbits had been laid near it with branches to roast them over the flames. Picking up a knife from atop a stone, she set about skinning the rabbits, and finding a pouch of herbs, rubbed the herbs into the flesh before quickly threading the beasts onto the wetted branch to roast. Rocking back on her heels, she looked around to find several knights watching her with curiosity.

"Cooking for us?" asked Bors, pointing to the rabbits that crackled over the flames.

Brigid shrugged. "It was there to be done," she answered simply, turning the rabbit on the spit. She wiped her hands on the snow and stood. She cocked her head to one side as her eyes swept the knights. "I am Brigid," she offered with a soft smile.

Bors grinned. "I'm Bors. That's Gawain," he pointed to the tawny-maned knight.

"_Leon_," she whispered, grey eyes widening. Not since she'd seen the Saxons had she seen hair the color of gold.

Gawain nodded, not noticing her inspection as his blue eyes dropping down to the rabbits that were dripping fat into the fire with sizzling heat. The smell alone was enough to drive any thought but dinner from his mind.

"And that's Galahad," he pointed to dark-haired young man with an equally dark beard. She smiled at the youngest man, noting his serious gaze. "Dagonet you've met, Arthur you've seen, Lancelot you've been carried by."

Brigid smothered a chuckle, struggling to maintain a placid appearance as the knight continued his introductions. The twinkle in her eyes was thankfully hidden by the darkness.

"And Tristan is standing behind you."

TBC

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Translations:

_Leon_: lion

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To My Wonderful Reviewers:

BleedingTwilight: I'm so glad you're enjoying! And I'm so glad you like Brigid's personality. And, per your request, here's the next bit. Sorry that it's a little short. But more is coming. Promise.

Miluielwen: Yay! Not Mary-Sueish! Don't worry, her relationship with Guenevere, her past and all of your questions will be answered. And with the speed that my muses are attacking my brain, this might be a very quickly written story.

Homeric: Thank you, thank you, thank you! Glad you like the interaction and I couldn't agree with you more. Dagonet is a tough nut to crack. And thank you for giving such wonderful inspiration in the form of your own writing.

Scottishgal12: With pleasure I deliver the next installment.

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	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: I keep apologizing for these chapters being so short, and I promise, longer ones are in the future. I can honestly say that feedback leads to more chapters. And I have to say thank you so much for the wonderful feedback.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

Chapter Four: The Confrontation

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Brigid spun on her heel, grey eyes transitioning from humor to surprise as she took in the scout. He was, indeed, behind her. He had made no sound that she had heard and Brigid cursed all the gods that came to mind that she had been startled. She knew better.

Tristan stepped to the spit that held the rabbits and lifted the rabbits from the flame. He sliced off a piece meat from one of the rabbit's flanks with his dagger and took a bite. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at the woman before him and took another bite.

"Edible?" asked Lancelot as he strode from the shadows.

Brigid's eyes narrowed. From the look in the dark-armored knight's eyes, she could not be certain if he was referring to the rabbit or her. "I should leave you gentlemen to your meal," she announced a little too quickly. She tugged the shawl tighter around her shoulders and hurried from the fireside, not sparing a glance over her shoulder for the knights. The laughter that followed her left her ears burning.

It was not until she was halfway back to the carriage that her stomach rumbled, reminding her that her original mission was unfulfilled. Sighing, she shook her head, looking towards the woods that surrounded them.

The movement did not surprise her. As the knights had commented, they were in Woad territory. It was where she had intended to be, if she was honest. A small boat had carried her from Ynys Môn all those months ago, her directive simple: aid Merlin in defeating the Saxon. Seers far more powerful and far wiser than she had determined that sending Brigid to Hadrian's Wall was her destiny. How she was to have an impact on the Saxon hordes invading Britain was beyond her. However, she and every man, woman, and child from Ynys Môn and beyond knew that, should the Saxons gain a foothold in Britain, then the lands to the west, including Hibernia, would be subject to the horrors of the Saxon. Self-preservation, Brigid found, motivated most charity.

She found herself at the edge of the woods and peered into the darkness. Stepping into the shadowed forest, she took a deep breath. The woods smelled like home. Suddenly the tension that had knotted her body released.

Home. It had been so long since she had seen Hibernia, her duties as a priestess for the goddess whose name she bore taking her far from home. And now, she thought as she ran her fingers across the rough bark of a tree, she was in Britain in the hands of the Romans. Albeit, Romans who did not take a pound of flesh, but Romans none the less.

She shook her head and crouched beneath an oak, her hands scooping up the snow. She took a tentative taste and smiled. The snow was cold and wet and soothed her parched throat. She wetted a corner of her shawl and swiped her throat with the icy wetness. "Ah," she sighed. Looking up, she saw the stars above and smiled. They were the same stars as seen in Hibernia, the same as those above Ynys Môn. Wherever she might go, she knew, those same stars would glitter above her.

The sound of a steel singing as a sword was drawn and Arthur's voice suddenly drew her from her stargazing. "You betrayed me!" he shouted.

She heard Gueneviere stop him, her voice soothing. "He means you no harm."

Brigid stood and looked down the hill at the scene playing out before her.

"Peace between us this night, Arthur Castus." The blue-painted man walked down the hill towards the sword-wielding Roman. "So, Rome is leaving. The Saxon have come. The world we have known and fought for is ended. Now we must make a new world."

Brigid turned from the scene below and swallowed, her eyes closing tightly. The old Woad was making peace with the Roman. Or attempting to, at least. She listened, eyes shut, as Arthur spat his hatred for the Woads to Merlin.

"If you were so determined to leave us to slaughter, why did you save so many?" asked Gueneviere.

A good question, Brigid decided. She listened as the three parted, Arthur left to question the free will of his knights. Opening her eyes she watched as Arthur stalked back to camp, his anger spent and his sword still in hand.

"Brigid, my child, come down from there," called Merlin.

Gueneviere's eyes widened as Brigid made her way down the hill. "How long have you been there?" she asked the Hibernian, embarrassment flaming her cheeks.

Brigid smiled gently and laid a comforting hand against Gueneviere's arm. "You did yourself no fault, lady," she answered. She looked to Merlin, eyes darkening to charcoal in the dim light. "He will not bend, Old Man. His hatred for you is too great."

Merlin smiled and touched Brigid's cheek, his hands calloused and warm. "He does not need to bend to me." He looked pointedly at Gueneviere, who smiled. Looking down at Gueneviere's hands, he smiled. "Aim true, daughter."

Brigid frowned, looking towards the knights and the far off firelight.

"And you, seer and priestess, you know your task."

Brigid's frown deepened. "You know the risk of changing the future, Old Man."

Merlin nodded. "And if it is not, more will die." He gripped her shoulder and turned her back toward the camp. "Do what your heart tells you, maid."

Brigid leaned forward and kissed Merlin on the cheek before she turned back. "We shall see each other again." Glancing to Gueneviere, she offered a smile. "Do not be overlong, Gueneviere. You will need rest for tomorrow."

TBC….

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Translations:

_Ynys Môn: The island of Anglesey, a welsh island that was the center of Druidic teaching._

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	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: Thank you for continuing to read this story. I have to admit this is one of the most enjoyable fandoms that I have either read or written for, so all the feedback is welcome.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

Chapter Five: The Confession

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The sun rose pale and insipid over the mountains, only a pale glow of red painting the horizon to remind those below the sky that morning had come. The light in the camp was still gray in that half-morning hour.

Brigid lowered herself from the cart she had slept in, not surprised that Gueneviere had risen before she. Pulling the shawl tighter she started towards the campfires. The fires themselves had burned themselves almost out but a little prodding with a stick and the embers soon came back to life. She put an iron pan of water above the flames, staring into the coals as they heated the water. She dropped herbs into the water, stirring them with a stick. Soon the tea was to a boil and she poured it into a skin. She kicked snow into the fire, watching as the flames died.

They would cross the ice today, she knew. And her talents as healer, not as a seer, would be required. She rose, her shawl wrapped around her hand to allow her to lift the still hot pan. She stepped as quietly as she could towards the banked campfire that Marius and his men had camped around. She paused at the edge, holding the pan with two hands.

"Get him!" shrieked Marius as his men seized Dagonet, dragging him from the ground where he had slept, keeping watch over Lucan.

Lucan, startled awake, watched as a man much like his father was dragged away. "No!" he shouted.

Brigid's heart broke as she watched Lucan. She'd heard the boy cry after his parents in the dungoeon, and known that his first peace came with Dagonet. However, her sorrow turned to rage as Marius grabbed the boy. It did not help that she knew it would happen or the results.

"I have the boy!" shouted Marius, his blade at Lucan's neck.

Brigid held her breath as she saw Fulcina attempt to free Lucan. The push sending the Roman woman to the snowy ground summonded a growl from within her.

The mercenaries drew their swords, advancing on Dagonet. Her heart sped, though she knew the outcome.

"Get him!" shouted Marius.

The arrow suddenly winging across the snowy clearing stopped all movement. Marius looked down at the arrow piercing his heart, then dropped like a stone. Lucan ran towards Dagonet, who pushed the boy under the cart he'd previously been sleeping near.

"Down," ordered Dagonet. He reached into the cart and drew his sword, growling at the mercenaries.

Brigid looked across the clearing, meeting the eyes of Gueneviere as she notched another arrow.

"Your hands seem better," offered Lancelot with a smirk.

Gueneviere glared and shot an arrow at the mercenaries, the arrow sticking out of the snow at their feet.

Bors suddenly rode in and completed the tableau.

Brigid lowered the pan to the ground and looked up, now meeting the confused gaze of Dagonet. He still held the sword, still stood in his fighting stance, but it was obvious that the mercenaries were outmatched. Without the head of the snake, the body did not know what to do. The mercenaries dropped their swords and surrendered.

Brigid watched as Dagonet turned to Lucan and she herself quickly crossed to the boy. "Lucan, you are a brave boy," she whispered.

Dagonet grabbed her arm, pulling her from Lucan and hauling her against the wagon. "How did you know? Did he tell you his plans?" he grated out, his blue eyes searching her face for answers.

Brigid winced. Dagonet's hands were strong and they held her arms in an iron grip. "He told me nothing," she ground out, willing Dagonet to believe her. "I saw his death, just as I have seen yours, Tristan's and Lancelot's," she bit out, her anger getting the best of her.

Dagonet stepped back, stunned.

Brigid rubbed her arms and reached for Lucan, who was watching she and Dagonet with wide, fearful eyes. "I was sent to stop the Saxons, Dagonet. But your deaths plague me. I would not see them unless I could change them. And unless all can be stopped, none can be saved."

Dagonet gaped at the woman. "So if I die, all die?"

Brigid nodded, taking a step closer to the giant. "Aye, Dagonet. So before you decide to run onto an icy lake, axe in hand, to break the ice beneath the Saxons, remember that if you plummet into the icy water, three crossbow bolts in your body, and die, then so will Lancelot and Tristan," she warned, grey eyes flashing in the predawn light.

Dagonet slowly closed his mouth. "How do I know you tell the truth?"

Brigid sighed, rubbing her forehead as she called back the memory of future events, searching for details to prove her honesty to Dagonet. "On an icy lake, Arthur will have the caravan spread across the ice. The ice will start to break. The horses will become startled. The war drums will sound closer. Then Arthur will say 'Knights.'" She paused, her features strained as she summoned the details. "Then Bors will say, 'Well, I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my arse is hurting.'" She looked at the warrior before her, eyes pleading. "Do you wish me to continue? I can if it will prove this to you."

Dagonet shook his head. "If this does come to pass, what should I do?"

Brigid frowned. She was no tactician--she was a healer and a more than decent cook. She looked up. "Break the ice out of range of their crossbows. If you must cross the ice, then take a shield bearer to cover you."

Dagonet nodded thoughtfully. "And if it does not come to pass?" he asked with a slight smile.

Brigid blew out an exasperated breath. "Then---I will do whatever you ask of me," she promised heatedly, a flush rising in her cheeks. "By the Gods, I pray that I am wrong. I pray that I do not tend to a man with crossbow bolts piercing his body." She stepped closer and looked up at the giant, fixing him with an unreadable gaze. "Prove me wrong, brave knight."

TBC….

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To My Wonderful Reviewers:

Scottishgal12: Thank you! Glad you're enjoying the chapters. And, never fear, Merlin, though cryptic, always gets explained.

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	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: I apologize for it taking so long for me to update. My wonderful husband just got a new pc video game and with only one computer, I have to exercise the virtue of sharing. Not being the virtuous type, this meant that I hovered over his shoulder a lot asking if I could get back online. Since he's going to be at work all night, I get to work on the next chapter overnight for him to read in the morning. Yes, more is coming. I really appreciate the reviews and, as before, responses to your feedback will be at the bottom. Again, thank you, thank you, thank you!

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

Chapter Six: The Ice

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The riverbed, dry and icy, served as a makeshift road for the caravan. Inside the carriage, Brigid fingered the silver talisman around her neck, the leather thong rubbing against her neck. She looked to Gueneviere, the Woad woman obviously preparing for a confrontation with the Saxons. Reaching down to the ruined shifts that Fulcina had given her, she began to tear them into strips. The fine linen soon lay in a shredded pile, ready to become bandages.

Brigid pulled open her bag and began the methodical arranging of her healing tools. Touching her jar of honey, she shook her head and sighed. She huffed silently as she thought about the men guiding the caravan.

Gueneviere looked up from lacing her boots. "What is it?"

Brigid looked up, worried grey eyes meeting brown. "The Saxons will catch up with us today," she announced.

Gueneviere nodded. The drums had been closing fast--especially since the caravan was forced to move slowly to accommodate the late Marius Honorious's serfs.

Brigid lifted the honey, the weight of the honey and the earthenware jar comforting. "Depending on the events of today, either none or three will die."

Gueneviere's eyes widened. When she had been given the task of bringing the seer from the western coast, she had not realized that the seer did indeed have the Gift. She had assumed that Brigid, the priestess sent from Ynys Môn, was simply a woman with wisdom. Instead, the garnet-haired woman had surprised her with her visions. And the accuracy was enough to give the Woad woman pause.

"Who?"

Brigid shook her head. For her to tell Gueneviere anything would put too many variables into the equation and the risk of more dying than previously seen could rise exponentially. "I cannot tell you, Gueneviere." She slid the honey back into her satchel and closed the flap over her tools.

Suddenly the cart ground to a halt. The caravan slowly creaked to a stop, only the blowing snow, shifting horses and men's voices carrying in the wind.

Outside in the snow, she could hear Arthur speaking. "Is there any other way?"

Brigid looked to Gueneviere. The Woad was listening also.

A voice came back. "No, we have to cross the ice."

Brigid drew herself straight in her seat, her muscles taut. It had begun. She slung her satchel across her chest, her healing tools resting against her hip.

Arthur paused, then gave the order. "Get them all out of the carriages. Tell them to spread out."

Brigid started to move towards the back of the carriage, not surprised when the flap suddenly opened, Dagonet at the opening with the reins of his horse wrapped around one hand. His blue eyes had darkened and were unreadable. He offered his empty hand and she accepted it, her hand disappearing into his giant paw.

Brigid dropped down to the ice and looked around, her shawl pulled tight against her shoulders as she disengaged her hand from his grip. The pass was what she remembered from her vision. She looked up at Dagonet. His shoulders were straight and his blue eyes were unflinching. The scar that skittered down his forehead to his cheek stood out white against his skin.

"We must spread out to cross the ice," growled Dagonet.

Brigid nodded, turning as Gueneviere dropped to the ice beside her.

No words were spoken as they all headed towards the lake. Brigid watched as Alecto, the late master's son, held his mother, supporting her as they started across the ice. The knights were guiding their horses across the ice, careful to keep a good distance between each other and the wagons.

The creaking ice stopped all in their tracks. Brigid looked to Arthur, willing him to say the words she had heard in her vision.

"Knights…" spoke Arthur.

Bors looked to his commander. "Well I'm tired of running. And these Saxons are so close behind, my arse is hurting."

Dagonet shot a look at Brigid, who simply pulled her bag tighter to her hip and looked ahead, ignoring the giant Sarmatian. Let him believe her or not, it was out of her hands

"Never liked looking over my shoulder," announced Tristan, his face unreadable.

Dagonet smirked. Trust Tristan to keep it simple.

Gawain looked to his commander, blue eyes flashing. "It'll be a pleasure to put an end to this racket."

Galahad, brown eyes fierce, nodded. "We'll finally get a look at the bastards."

Brigid held her breath as Dagonet started forward, his blue eyes ferocious. "Here. Now."

Damn you, Dagonet, she thought, holding her breath. She agreed with Lancelot, who shook his head disapprovingly. Of all the places to pitch a battle, this might be the worst. No cover. No escape route. And far too many Saxons for comfort. However, no one could hear her internal diatribe as Arthur set Jols to unloading the weaponry and equipment. Arthur was giving orders, sending the civilians to safety. The man named Ganis was arguing with Arthur. She was drawn from her thoughts when she heard Gueneviere speak.

"Eight. You could use another bow," announced Gueneviere.

Brigid's eyes widened as she stared at the Woad. Brigid had ignored Arthur's order to obey Ganis. She had obeyed no man and she was not about to start now. Brigid watched as Dagonet raised his hand in farewell to Lucan.

Looking up at the grey sky with a wry smile Brigid made a silent pledge. _My life in service for theirs. _

TBC…

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Translations:

Ynys Môn: The island of Anglesey, a welsh island that was the center of Druidic teaching.

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To My Wonderful Reviewers:

BleedingTwilight: Wow, thank you. I'm so glad that you're enjoying this so far. Again, sorry for the short chapters, but hopefully lots of chapters will make up for it. And as for Dagonet not believing her, would you?

homeric: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying and I promise that I'll make it worth the wait. Sorry that this chapter is slow but hopefully the coming chapter will make up for it. And thank you, thank you, thank you for saying that I haven't gone the mary sue route.

UnicornTKD: As requested, here is another chapter. More is coming.

Scottishgal12: I'll do my best to keep the knights safe, sane and sober. Okay, maybe not sober. When I satarted this story, I never thought it would be hard to keep these men from certain death--little did I know!

Blackeri: Thank you. Again, sorry for the short chapters but hopefully lots of short chapters makes up for it. I'm glad that you like the story. As promised, here is the next chapter.

parixs: Yay! I'm so glad that you're enjoying. And thank you for letting me know that it hasn't degerated to a mary sue. I hope that you continue to enjoy.

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	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: We're getting close to the end. I see a sequel. And I can't tell you if everyone will survive or anything else since this story is practically writing itself. Hence the reason that this is quickly being written. Well, that and the wonderful reviews. Thank you!

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

Chapter Seven: The Wall

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_He had listened._

Brigid fingered her shawl, her head resting against the rattling wall of the wagon, her eyes taking in the scene before her.

Hadrian's Wall seemed to rise out of the ground like a great beast and Brigid had to remind herself that it was the work of man, not giants. She shifted on the floor of the wagon, glad that no one had suggested that she ride one of the mammoth beasts that bore the knights. Instead, she had been shouted at by the knights for staying behind with the knights instead of traveling with the civilians. She had been ordered like a child into the former sick wagon and dragged by her arm to the wagon she shared with the sleeping Lucan and Gueneviere, who watched her with unfathomable eyes.

"Brigid, what would you have done had the Saxons crossed the ice?" asked Gueneviere, her head resting on her knees.

It sometimes amazed Brigid that she and the woman across from her were about the same age. Looking up from Lucan's dark golden she had been twisting around her finger as the boy lay asleep in her lap, she smiled at the younger woman. "You forget, Gueneviere, I saw that they would not."

Gueneviere let loose an exasperated breath of air. "You yourself have said that your visions can change."

Brigid shrugged and went back to sweeping her fingers through Lucan's hair. Outside the knights were discussing what they would do when they went home to Sarmatia. However, this time Dagonet also rode with his fellow knights.

She still couldn't believe that Dagonet had actually listened to her. When she had seen him lift his axe, her heart had sunk. However, he did not cross the ice as far as in her vision, stopping out of range of the Saxon crossbows but close enough to do the job. Yes, his axe sank into the ice. Yes, the ice had shattered, sending Saxons into the freezing water without hope of rescue. But this time, Dagonet strode back to his comrades with his axe resting on his shoulder, a rare smile gracing his face.

That was until Dagonet saw Brigid standing in the snow and a frown replaced his smile.

Brigid rubbed her arm, certain that bruises would appear in her fair skin. A small price to pay for seeing that the giant Sarmatian survived. She looked at Gueneviere, who had turned her attention to looking out her side of the wagon. Quietly thankful that Gueneviere would not question her any further, she let her thoughts wander. By changing Dagonet's fate, she had changed the playing field.

She let her head drop into her hands, her eyes shutting against her worry. By saving Dagonet, had she sacrificed another? The question rang in her head, driving away her happiness at the large healer's survival. Had she simply saved him to watch him die at another time?

She didn't realize that she was crying until she felt a tear slip down her cheek. She quickly wiped away the tears in her eyes on her shawl, glad that Gueneviere had not seen her cry. Gueneviere had not seen her cry even in the dungeon, a fact she was thankful for. She rubbed at her nose, sniffling softly enough that it was covered by the jangle of the horses.

They had drawn far closer to the wall and the sound of its hinges creaking open in advance of Arthur's men carried across the open plain. They were almost to the fortress that the knights had called home for fifteen years. Brigid wondered what the fortress would be like. They rode through the huge gate and Brigid gaped at the doors. Head in her lap, Lucan started to wake up. His blue eyes looked up at her, curious at her reddened eyes. Soon, however, his attention was drawn by Hadrian's wall just as Gueneviere's and Brigid's attentions had been.

Never before had she seen such a wall--it was built both to protect and to intimidate. The doors slammed shut as the last of the caravan rolled through and Brigid felt her mouth go dry. Suddenly she felt trapped like a bird in a cage. On they rode into the inner sanctum of the fortress.

Lucan sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Are we there yet?" he asked, taking the heel of bread offered by Gueneviere.

Gueneviere smiled. "I think so, Lucan. We've passed Hadrian's Wall at least."

Brigid's arm held the boys slim shoulders as he ate hungrily. She met Gueneviere's eyes over Lucan's head, worry in her eyes. "We will be at a Roman fortress, Gueneviere. Will you be safe?"

Gueneviere nodded. "The Romans are leaving. It's the Saxons we need to worry about."

Brigid nodded, absently stroking Lucan's hair. They were entering the fortress proper, the light being blocked out by the high stone and wood buildings.

The caravan finally came to a halt and Lucan bolted from the carriage, dropping to the ground before either Gueneviere or Brigid could stop him.

"Lucan!" shouted Gueneviere, racing after the boy. She could tell that Lucan was running towards the knights, intent on getting to Dagonet.

The Roman soldiers stationed beside the arch to the courtyard started to run after Lucan. "You, boy, stop!" they shouted.

Suddenly the Roman soldiers were faced with Galahad, his sword at their throats.

Dagonet, who had just lifted himself down from his mount, turned to find a golden haired blur aimed towards him. Lucan slammed into Dagonet's legs, holding on for dear life.

Brigid watched Dagonet lift Lucan onto his hip from her place beside the wagon and breathed a sigh of relief. They had made it to the wall, she thought, looking around at the Roman soldiers and the civilians milling about.

Now they had to face the Saxons.

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Brigid watched Gueneviere heading towards Arthur's quarters, biting back a sigh. Part of her wanted for Arthur and his knights to do as they intended---leave Briton and return to the safety and sanity of their homelands. She cared if they lived or died and she wanted them to have happiness, even if it meant that they were far away from Hadrian's Wall. However, if Gueneviere did not convince Arthur and if the knights did not stay, the Saxons would succeed. Brigid knew this as sure as she knew that the sun would rise in the morning. She hugged herself tighter as she stared out over the battlements.

Gueneviere had spoken with Arthur earlier at the graveyard--the graveyard which would have held Dagonet--and tried to convince him of the need not to hate his British side.

"What troubles you, lady?" asked a voice from behind her.

Brigid frowned and looked over her shoulder. The tawny maned knight called Gawain was looking out at the field in front of the fortress, the fires of the Saxon advancing. "Aside from certain death at the hands of the Saxon?" she asked irritably, grey eyes turned quicksilver in the moonlight. She rounded on the knight, hands on her hips. "How am I to save anyone if I cannot even see?" She stormed past Gawain, blind to his confusion.

He watched her dash down the stairs towards the courtyard and turned to follow her. She had become Dagonet's own shadow since Lancelot had carried her from the darkness of Marius Honorius's dungeon. If anyone knew what the girl meant, it would have to be the Sarmatian healer. He had never seen Dagonet so angry as when he had practically thrown Brigid into the wagon and the Sarmatian healer had taken it upon himself to find Brigid temporary quarters near the knights.

He strode towards the tavern, certain that the knights would be enjoying a final round of ale before the evacuation in the morning. He stepped beneath the dressed beams of the doorway and spotted his fellow Sarmatians. Snagging a glass of ale from a harried Vanora with a smile, he strode to the table and dropped onto the bench beside Dagonet.

Gawain tapped Dagonet's arm, drawing the healer from his glass of ale. "Dagonet, is the woman Brigid mad?" he asked.

Dagonet grinned and swallowed the gulp of ale he had just taken. "Why do you ask?"

Gawain shrugged and turned on the wooden bench so that his arms rested on the wooden table. "She just shouted at me about not being able to save anyone if she could not see." He rubbed his forehead. "She seems able to see perfectly fine."

Dagonet shook his head. "She's a seer."

Gawain gaped at his usually silent friend.

Dagonet set his goblet on the wooden table. "She warned Marius of his death. She told me of it as well, though I did not understand her warning. She warned me of the Saxons on the lake. And I believe she saved my life."

Gawain's eyes widened, both at Dagonet's words and at the fact that it might have been the most he'd heard Dagonet say at a sitting in the fifteen years they'd served Rome. "A seer?" He remembered the wise women of his tribe who knew how to heal and could see the past and future with spells and herbs. Brigid did not remind him of the gnarled women with knotted hair and white eyes.

Dagonet nodded and rose. "We should find out what she sees."

As the two knights set off from the tavern to find the seer, Brigid leaned against the back wall of the tavern, eyes squeezed tightly shut and hands over her mouth to keep her cries from being heard. The visions came hard and fast and Brigid was helpless to stop their assault. She saw the battle as if she stood in the middle. She saw Tristan face off against the Saxon leader and saw the Saxon leader toy with the Sarmatian knight. Finally, she saw Tristan start to crawl away, the Saxon leader storming after him and then the killing blow. The scene again changed and she once again saw Lancelot, turning from a young Saxon he had left on the ground to aid Gueneviere, his eyes leaving the man he had failed to kill to look for the woman who had captured his interest. A deadly mistake, she realized as the Saxon warrior picked up a crossbow and sent a bolt into Lancelot's chest. Even though he plunged his own sword twice into the Saxon warrior and he took him with him into the afterlife, Lancelot fell with unseeing eyes.

She buried her head against her knees, praying that the vision would end differently. Hadn't she saved Dagonet? Shouldn't his survival set in motion events to save Tristan and Lancelot?

"Maid, you are troubled."

Brigid opened her eyes to find herself looking up into Merlin's eyes. "Glad I am to see you, Old Man." She let him lift her to her feet and grabbed his arm, stepping closer to the Woad.

Merlin gazed at the woman only two summers older than his own daughter. "What is it, Brigid?"

Brigid swallowed. "Tristan and Lancelot will die tomorrow if we do not intercede."

Merlin frowned. "Perhaps it is their destiny."

Brigid stomped her foot in frustration, not caring that it made her look like a child. "If it was not changeable, then I would not see it." She stepped closer to Merlin until their eyes were mere inches apart.

"What would you do?" asked Merlin.

Brigid frowned then smiled as Roman linen caught her eye. Fulcina, Marius Honorius's widow, had taken it upon herself to help with the sick of her late husband's serfs. "I know how to stop Lancelot. He needs a good woman to turn his eyes from your daughter."

Merlin's eyes followed Brigid's, eyebrows rising in surprise. "And Tristan?"

Brigid rounded back onto Merlin. "He is your task. He will fight the leader. You, I and the Gods above and below cannot stop that. Keep four men, strong and vicious fighters, near Tristan. When Tristan is beaten but before he is killed, have your fighters intercede." She touched Merlin's cheek, silently begging for his agreement.

Merlin nodded. "And what will be sacrificed in return?"

Brigid frowned. The old man was right--there was a reaction for every action and she was playing with destiny. "I've already offered myself to fate, Old Man." She stepped back from the Woad leader and let her eyes sweep over the courtyard. When she turned back, Merlin had vanished into the shadows. "As have you, ghost," she spoke to the empty air. No more time to waste, she decided, hurrying across the courtyard to the older Roman woman.

Fulcina had just raised a bucket from the well and pushed her fists into the small of her back. She let her dark eyes sweep over the courtyard and smiled as she watched Brigid, the fierce Hibernian from the dungeon, walking towards her with purpose. "Good evening, Brigid."

Brigid smiled as she neared the Roman woman. She had liked the Roman since Fulcina had first crept into the dungeon with food for the prisoners. Fulcina had a strength and virtue that her husband had neither possessed himself nor appreciated in his wife. She thanked the Gods that Alecto appeared to take after his mother. "Good evening, Fulcina. I have a favor to ask of you," she confessed, touching Fulcina's arm. She gazed into the Roman's eyes, willing her to believe her. "I see the way that you look at the knight Lancelot."

Fulcina blushed and shook her head quickly. "I don't know what you are talking about," sputtered the Roman woman.

Brigid shook her head. "And he looks at you the same. Tomorrow the evacuation will begin. Tomorrow the Saxons will attack." She stepped closer to Fulcina, making sure that the Roman could see the seriousness in her eyes. "Would you deny yourself the comfort of a man who gazes at you like the air he needs to breathe?" She silently prayed that any Gods listening would forgive her overstatement.

Fulcina gaped at the younger woman. She was an honorable Roman woman. The Hibernian was asking her to betray her family, her duty as a wife, and her duty as a mother.

"Alecto would not fault you, lady. He would want you happy. And we are at the ends of the earth," she reminded Fulcina, appearing to read Fulcina's thoughts. "We may all die tomorrow or you on the road to Rome. It is time for you to be free," she advised.

"And what of you? Do you intend to be free?" asked Fulcina, allowing her to be guided towards the tavern.

Brigid smiled slightly as they stepped to just outside the light of the tavern, pushing the older woman inside. "We'll see."

Brigid leaned against the post of the doorway to watch and see if her plan would be successful.

Within the tavern, Fulcina stepped cautiously to Lancelot, his eyes firmly fastened on his goblet of mead.

"Sir."

Lancelot looked up, stunned. In the two days the knights had traveled with the Romans and their serfs, no one had heard Fulcina's voice. "You should not be here," he advised, quickly rising from the bench. He looked around the tavern but anyone in the tavern was locked in their own thoughts and took no notice of the Roman woman.

Fulcina nodded and stepped closer to the Sarmatian. "I wish to speak with you," she replied, her voice soft and breathy.

Lancelot's brow furrowed in confusion. His confusion cleared as Fulcina took his hand and started to lead him from the tavern towards the room she had been given to sleep in.

TBC….

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To My Wonderful Reviewers:

homeric: Thank you. Hope that this chapter lives up to your expectations and I hope that you continue to enjoy the story just as much as I enjoy your stories.

Scottishgal12: Yay! Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter as well.

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	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: Warning: Adult situtations and implied naked bits. I apologize heartily for the adult nature of this chapter (I did rate this story M for a reason) and if you are too young to be reading this story, stop now. I'm afraid that my Titus Pullo muse had a little fun with my brain. As before, responses to my wonderful reviewers is at the bottom.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

Chapter Eight: The Tavern

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Brigid dropped onto a bench and rested her elbows on the tabletop in the tavern, dropping her head into her hands as exhaustion finally began to take its toll. She had spent hours setting up a healing room, laying out her healing tools, herbs and bandages in preparation for the coming battle. She was happy that Fulcina had followed her, if not love then, lust for the dark knight Lancelot. The woman had been the wife of a troll and deserved some happiness. As for Gueneviere, after Arthur had announced to the knights that he would be staying at the wall to fight the Saxon hordes, she had gone to Arthur's room and had not reappeared.

Which left five more knights for Brigid to worry about. Well, four, she thought as she watched Bors hold Vanora in a surprisingly tender embrace. The oldest knight was a marriage of opposites: brutal fighter and tender husband and father. Brigid rested her cheek on one of her hands, watching Bors and Vanora. In the morning Bors, Vanora, and their bastards would all evacuate from the fortress. Brigid's breath caught as she thought of the knights leaving her behind. She couldn't go to Rome or Sarmatia--she was Hibernian and her task lay at the wall. But that didn't mean that she wouldn't mourn the loss of these wonderful people that she'd met. Perhaps one more than the others. But self-honesty was not Brigid's strong suit and she quickly threw that thought into a bottomless pit. Instead she turned her thoughts to the battle ahead.

Her skills as a healer would be sorely needed, especially since the only other healers in the fort were leaving with the Romans. She was as prepared as she could be and the only thing left to do was attempt to get enough sleep to be of any use to the wounded. Standing from the table, she started towards the entrance of the tavern, waving a farewell at Vanora. If Bors lover had not been determined to follow Bors, Brigid might have asked for a position as tavern wench should they survive.

But if wishes were fishes she would never starve.

Stopping at the entrance to the tavern, she pressed a hand to the wood doorway, closing her eyes against the tiredness that swept over her. Opening her eyes, she swallowed a groan as she watched Gawain and Dagonet heading towards her. She held up a hand to stop them when she saw both Gawain and Dagonet open their mouths to speak.

"I am exhausted. If you have something to ask then you can ask me while you walk me to my room," she advised, starting across the courtyard towards her quarters.

Dagonet and Gawain shared a look before Dagonet fell in step with the petite healer, leaving the golden haired knight to amuse himself in the tavern.

"What have you seen?" asked Dagonet.

Brigid sighed and concentrated on putting one step in front of the other. "The Saxons will attack, Arthur will fight and many will die," she answered in a monotone.

She looked at Dagonet, struck with how calm he appeared without his heavily armored vest. "You, Dagonet, have visited my visions enough," she announced firmly, finally reaching her room. She started to open the door when Dagonet's much larger hand closed over her hand. "What more would you ask of me?" she pleaded.

Dagonet fixed her with an uncompromising gaze. "Swear that you will evacuate with us."

Brigid closed her eyes and let her forehead drop against the door to her room. "I am sorry, Dagonet. I must stay."  
Dagonet took a step closer. "Not if I bind you and tie you to my horse," he growled.

Brigid met his gaze over her shoulder, her smile icy. "And I would slit your throat to get back here," she answered, venom lacing her voice. "My choice, Dagonet. Mine, and mine alone."

Dagonet glared at the woman. "No, milady."

Brigid shook her head and opened her door, expecting the conversation to be over. She crossed to the window opposite the door, her hand pushing the door shut behind her. The door did indeed shut behind her and she heard the lock being turned as it could only be done from within.

Surprised, she spun to find Dagonet glowering at her. "Why do you care so much?" she demanded mutinously, stomping up to the giant Sarmatian. She was tired, frustrated and certainly not in the mood to go to war with Dagonet.

Dagonet leaned down and captured her mouth, swallowing her gasp of shock. He was surprised at how soft her lips were and wrapped his arms around her waist, his calloused hands cradling her hips against him. He pulled her tighter to him, feeling gratified when she opened her mouth to his, allowing entrance. Lifting her by the waist, he walked her to the wall opposite the door and pressed her into it. He rested his foot on the edge of her bed and settled her on his thigh, her skirts pooling over his leg.

Brigid had initially stiffened under Dagonet when he claimed her mouth but she quickly relaxed beneath his kiss. She slid her arms up and laced her fingers behind his head. She didn't understand why she found the giant Sarmatian intriguing but he had captured her imagination since she had first watched him tend to Lucan.

Dagonet had not intended to kiss Brigid. Gods knew that he just wanted to keep this strange woman safe. But she was stubborn and unyielding and bewitching. She'd saved his life, cared enough to try to save his comrades, and never whined at her lot. However, when she had dismissed him to claim her bed, Dagonet knew that he didn't want the conversation to end.

Why did he care, he wondered even as his mouth roamed down to her throat, her hands clutching his shoulders. He nipped the tender flesh under her ear, satisfied when he heard her moan. He traced the line of her throat down to the collar of her gown, his fingers making short work of the lacings holding the gown to her body.

Brigid gasped as Dagonet's hands cupped her breasts through the wool, her eyes closing at his touch. "Dagonet," she whimpered, hands dropping from his shoulders to cup his buttocks through his breeches. Too many clothes, she thought. Her silent plea was answered as she felt Dagonet lifting the woolen gown over her head.

Dagonet grinned, his stubbled cheek raking her skin. He gazed down at this oddity of a woman, wondering how he had managed to get to this moment. Clad only in a thin shift, she reminded him of the stories his mother had told him of fearless women of old. Stroking her cheek with the backs of his knuckles, he wondered at the fact that he, the most frightening in appearance of all of his fellow knights, had captured this petite woman's attentions.

He captured one of her breasts through the linen, his eyes open as he watched her arch against him as he drew the flesh into his moth. Brigid leaned into his touch, grey eyes closed. When she had imagined her first lover, he had been a faceless grey shape with no form or passion. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined this fierce, noble man who seemed determined to possess her body and soul.

Dagonet lifted the shift from her body, tossing the linen garment to the floor to join her gown. He stared down at her, blue eyes burning into her soul. Not saying a word, he lifted the woman before him into his arms and carried her to her tiny bed. Laying her on the straw mattress, he let his eyes sweep over her as he stood above her.

Brigid shivered and began to reach for the thin blanket, cold and bashfulness wanting the covering.

Dagonet shook his head, denying her the woolen covering, and tugged on his belt, the heavy leather falling with a thump to the floor. He pulled his jerkin over his head, the heavy leather also falling to the floor. Next came his rust-colored linen tunic. He sat on the edge of her cot to pull off his boots, his eyes never leaving hers as he looked for any sign of fear. Finding none, he dropped his boots and pulled his woolen stockings from his feet. He stood and let his breeches fall to the floor.

The look in Brigid's eyes lured him to the bed. He lay down beside the pretty Hibernian and gathered her to him.

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Tristan's eyes widened as he passed the Hibernian healer's door, recognizing a roar that he'd heard often enough in battle come from within. Gawain had mentioned in the tavern that Dagonet had walked the pretty redhead to her rooms to speak of her _visions_. Tristan remembered the wise women of his own tribe who used blood and fire to see the future and thought that the small woman looked nothing like the women he remembered. He'd been headed to his own bed to prepare for the long journey home in the morning when he'd been stopped by Dagonet's roar from within Brigid's room.

He paused, hand on his dagger, as he listened for trouble within.

Instead, he found himself listening almost voyeuristically as he heard the Sarmatian healer chuckle from within, a very feminine chuckle joining in.

Tristan shook himself and offered a rare smile to the empty hallway. It was about time that Dagonet, often the loneliest member of their troop, found a woman to be happy with. Tristan moved towards his own bed, thoughts on the morning occupying his mind.

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Brigid swung her legs over the edge of the cot, looking back at the sleeping naked Sarmatian who had claimed her bed and her heart. She smiled, touching the reddened skin on her cheeks and throat that Dagonet had left with his stubbled nuzzling. Slowly rising, she wondered at the aches in her body. Making love with a Sarmatian was demanding even though Dagonet was a gentle lover.

She quickly donned her shift and dress and began to look for her shoes, the cold of the room suddenly far more apparent since she had just left a very warm bed.

"Good morning," grinned Dagonet from the bed, his body levered up to lean on one arm. "What are you doing?" He seemed completely unaware of either his nakedness or the effect his powerful form had on the woman in the room.

Brigid slipped on her slippers and smiled at the warrior. "I am going to the healing rooms to prepare for the wounded."

Dagonet's jaw dropped. After they had spent the night in lovemaking, he had assumed that Brigid's decision to leave the fortress would change. He grimaced and threw his long legs onto the floor and shook his head. "No, Brigid, you are coming with me."

Brigid stiffened and looked at the impressively naked man, shoving away her physical and emotional reactions to his body. "I told you before that I was staying, Dagonet." She stepped away from Dagonet and turned, staring out the window rather than look at her lover. "Last night does not change that."

Dagonet stiffened and glared at the woman whose body he had memorized in the few hours they had enjoyed each other. He pulled on his breeches and grabbed his tunic from the floor where it had been discarded. "So it meant nothing?" he growled as he stood and stalked towards Brigid.

Brigid spun and fixed Dagonet with a fierce glare. Her slap seemed to come out of nowhere and she gaped at the red imprint she left on his cheeks, almost shocked that she had hit her lover. Dagonet's blue eyes hardened and moments later he stormed out of her room, his tunic, jerkin, and boots in his arms as he made every attempt to ignore the woman he was leaving.

Brigid watched as the door swung shut and crossed to her narrow bed, sitting on the bed and drawing her legs up to her chest. Resting her cheek against her knee, she felt the tears slip unheeded from her eyes onto her gown.

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Dagonet glared straight ahead as his fellow knights climbed atop their steeds. He ignored the jokes and jibes traded by Bors, Gawain and Lancelelot. He ignored the happy words of Galahad. Thankfully, Tristan was easy to ignore since he did not speak much. He would be glad to be rid of the forsaken country and the mad Hibernian who had shared her bed with him, he decided, grinding his teeth in impatience.

The caravan could not begin rolling forward soon enough.

TBC….

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To My Wonderful Reviewers:

homeric: Yay! Glad that you like Dag being alive--I just had to save him. I also am glad that you enjoyed Gawain. Yup, I would imagine that seeing the future would get you thrown into a padded room today or burned as a witch then. And, no, you obviously were not silly in seeing them together, though the road of true love was never easy. More is coming, I promise.

Scottishgal12: Yay! I also am so glad I didn't kill him. Nothing is more depressing than seeing Dagonet die. Again, no promises that none of the other knights die or any main characters die, but I'll do my best. J

BleedingTwilight: I'm glad you enjoyed Dag's reaction to Brigid's being on the ice. And I'm also glad that you are enjoying Brigid's little dilemma with trying to keep all of them alive. As for Fulcina and Lancelot, well, you can thank my husband for that little idea. I'm glad that you're enjoying so far and I hope that it continues to amuse and hold your interest.

Lady Marek: Don't worry, if Tristan lives I'll give him a good woman or at least a feisty one. Glad that you like Lancelot and Fulcina, again, my husband is to blame. Sorry I couldn't give Brigid to Tristan but, as my husband pointed out, the one she had the most interaction with was Dag. It would seem very weird for her to throw herself at Tristan.

shariena: Thank you. And here's the next installment. More is coming.

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	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: Wow. The ninth chapter. We're almost to the end, people. Please, keep the feedback coming.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

Chapter Nine: The Goodbye

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Brigid stood in the window of the tower, her eyes fixed on the giant Sarmatian. He sat ramrod straight in his saddle, his face stony. How the idiot would think that her night with him meant nothing was beyond her. Didn't he understand her duty?

She remembered the blood on the sheets and Dagonet's surprise and the tenderness that followed. She closed her eyes and took a breath. Maybe if she pretended that he didn't exist, the pain in her heart would go away.

"Brigid?" called a familiar voice.

Brigid opened her eyes and turned slowly, her grey eyes registering Fulcina before her. "You should go, my lady. The caravan will be leaving soon." The last place this gentle Roman matron belonged was in a cold castle with Saxon hordes set to descend and tear apart all that the Romans and Sarmatians had built.

The Roman woman, who seemed to have dropped ten years since her husband collapsed on the snowy earth, smiled at the younger woman and came to stand beside the healer at the window. "No, Brigid. I am staying." She looked down at the snowy ground, her dark eyes wandering over the knights. Her brown eyes lingered on a knight with dark curls, who shifted uneasily on his horse.

Almost as if sensing the Roman woman's gaze, Lancelot turned in his saddle, his brown eyes drawn to the window of one of the towers. There stood Fulcina beside Dagonet's red-haired healer. He spun his gaze to Dagonet who sat behind him. Suddenly he noticed the grim expression and the stern gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Ah," Lancelot said. His gaze flitted up to the two women who watched them from above.

"Ah, what?" asked Gawain, bringing his horse alongside Lancelot's.

Lancelot looked from Dagonet to the window and then back.

Gawain looked up and swore. "What are they doing up there?" he demanded.

Lancelot shook his head, his gaze rueful. "I believe, brother, that they intend to stay."

Gawain's expression said it all: he thought the women truly mad. "The Saxons will take the fortress and they will die."

Lancelot frowned and looked up again, his eyes meeting Fulcina's. The night before had been unexpected, to say the least. When the Roman woman had led him to her chambers, he had expected a cold, staid woman such as they had seen accompanying Marius. Instead, the slim woman had shown a fire and beauty unexpected of one sold into marriage to a brute. She had met him as an equal, not a fawning servant girl or a bitchy aristocrat. She was earthy and funny and they had laughed in bed as they made love. Suddenly he did not want the Roman woman to die.

"I'll be back," he announced, tossing his reins to Gawain, who caught them in surprise. He pushed past the servants bringing belongings to the carts of the evacuation caravan and took the stairs up the tower two at a time. Finally he was at the door to the tower room he'd spotted Fulcina and Brigid in. He started to push the door open, but the sound of Fulcina's voice stopped him.

"I won't go, Brigid. I have to make up for Marius's sins."

An exasperated sound issued from Brigid's lips. "Lady, your husband's sins are his own, not yours. Just because you were tied to a monster doesn't make you a monster."

Lancelot winced for his lover. Dagonet's healer had the bedside manner of a Saxon.

"Brigid, my mind is made up."

Lancelot raked his hand through his curls.

"And what of Lancelot?"

Lancelot's ears perked up.

The Roman woman was strangely silent.

Suddenly the door opened and Lancelot was face to face with Fulcina. The Roman gazed at him, her face unreadable. Leaning forward, she captured Lancelot's lips in a searing kiss. A moment later, even before Lancelot had realized what was happening, the door was shut and he was alone in the hallway.

He turned to go down the stairs, his eyes flickering back up to the wooden door as he started to descend.

In the room, Brigid stared at the Roman woman whose back was pressed to the wooden door, her mouth agape. For Fulcina to give Lancelot a goodbye kiss was not part of her reality. "My Lady?" she questioned, taking a careful step towards Fulcina as if the Roman woman might explode.

Fulcina opened her eyes and turned her gaze on Brigid. "I think we should prepare for the wounded, don't you?"

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The caravan moved slowly forward, the knights moving with them. They had fallen silent after they could no longer see Arthur through the smoke.

The sound of drumming carried on the wind, the horses wheeling and neighing, startling their riders.

Bors's horse threw its head and wheeled, followed by the others. "Whoa," said the oldest knight softly to the horse, stroking its neck to soothe it.

The knights pulled on the reins, hushing the horses as they calmed them. Lancelot leaned forward, his hand stroking the pelt of his horse. He wondered at the horse, then reminded himself of what his father had said before he had be taken from Sarmatia: _There is a legend that fallen knights return as great horses_. The horses had turned themselves back towards the wall and the Saxons. He looked at Bors, then Gawain and Galahad, then Tristan and Dagonet. The same thought seemed to be in all of their eyes.

Tristan turned to his hawk. "Hey," he clicked his tongue. "You're free," he said, lifting his arm. The hawk rose into the air and wheeled away, its keening cry echoing above them.

Bors looked back at Vanora, then at his children. He hadn't wanted to leave in the first place, thought Dagonet as he watched his fellow knights.

Lancelot looked at Gawain, and the golden knight offered a half-smile. Galahad grinned and Tristan stretched the string on his bow. They were warriors, not glorified bodyguards. For once, thought Dagonet, their fight was one they made, not one they fought for a far off empire.

Like the hawk, they were free. And as free men, they would fight for the homes they had fashioned from this strange land.

TBC….

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To My Wonderful Reviewers:

Bleeding Twilight: Well, he's a very tall, very big Sarmatian and, yes, he is hard-headed. I'm glad that you enjoyed the chapter and I enjoyed writing the scene between them. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well. More is coming.

parixs: I'm glad you're enjoying. I feel the same way--I don't want anyone to die in this story. Sadly, this story is writing itself so I have no idea where it's going. Blame my muses--they're having a joyous time at the expense of my brain. I also am glad that you like Lancelot/Fulcina and I'm very glad that you want to read more. Hopefully I'll keep you interested through the rest of it.

Lady Marek: Yay! I'm glad--I like them together as well. And I'll try to keep everyone alive but this story is writing itself. But I'll try, promise.

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	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers. I could not and would not be writing this story without your feedback. You are the silent partners in this endeavor and I can't even begin to thank everyone who has read and told me what they feel about this story. And for everyone who told me not to kill the knights--thank you.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter Ten: The Hill**

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The smoke hung over the battlefield in a thick gray cloak, obscuring the battlefield from the view of the fortress. The sounds of steel on steel had faded and now only the sounds of men and women in pain filled the air.

Fulcina had been silent as they tended to the wounded and dying while Brigid talked in a steady stream. What she had spoken of, wondered Brigid. She could have been discussing the recipe for mutton stew for all she knew. She only babbled when nervous.

Her eyes drifted to the window overlooking the wall and the hill before it. She still didn't know what the outcome of the battle was. She stepped to the window, took a breath and looked down on the scene below.

The Saxons were defeated.

Brigid let a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escape as she gripped the stone casement. Looking over her shoulder, she caught Fulcina's questioning gaze. The smile she offered was reflected on the Roman woman's face, her expression one of relief.

Brigid stepped away from the window and began to pack her supplies in her satchel. "I must go down to the field, my lady. I will be back as quickly as I can," she promised, her eyes scanning the room and the men and women resting on pallets on the floor. So many wounded, she thought sadly.

Fulcina nodded. "We have done all we can for them," she motioned to the wounded in the room. "Go see if we need to tend to any more."

Brigid nodded. She didn't need to tell Fulcina that she would look for seven men in particular. Fulcina knew. She read the request for urgency in Fulcina's brown eyes and slung the satchel over her shoulder.

The door shut firmly behind her, Brigid headed down the spiraling staircase and pushed open the heavy wooden door at the base. Around the fortress proper, men lay dead and dying. Crouching beside a man, she listened for a heartbeat. Nothing. She closed his eyes and whispered a quick blessing for the dead. The same action was repeated too many times to count. Those that were alive, she treated with a grim efficiency born of too much death. Honey was smeared on the wounds to kill infection, the wounds then wrapped in the linen bandages she horded, and then the wounded passed to the few without wounds to be taken to the healing rooms. It never failed to amaze the healer at just how much destruction men could cause.

Watching as her latest charge was carried towards the healing rooms, she wiped her hand against her forehead, pushing her hair out of her eyes and trying to clear the perspiration from her skin. Had she known the frightening vision she made with blood smeared on her cheeks and forehead from tending to wounded or how her dark red curls had darkened to a blackish red from the sooty fires still burning, she wouldn't have cared. Her task was to tend to the injured and give peace to the dead, not paint a pretty picture of hearth and home.

Many more would die in the coming days, she knew, of infection, blood loss, or shock from their wounds. It was a matter of time. She looked around at the carnage surrounding her and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Shoving away her revulsion, she continued her search. Many more dead than wounded graced the battlefield of Badon Hill.

Around her, others searched the battlefield, their bodies painted blue and brown with dried blood.

She had been searching the battlefield for what seemed an eternity when she saw a flash of Sarmatian armor in the corner of her eye. She turned and caught sight of seven men, some lying on the ground, some sitting, some standing.

She hurried forward, focused on the men that had battled the Saxons. She watched as Gueneviere, painted blue and streaked with red, slowly approached the men from another direction.

Brigid did a quick mental headcount. Lancelot stood, his hands pressed to his side but alive. She let out a whoosh of air she had not realized she was holding. Tristan lay on the ground but she could tell he was breathing, even if he was a mass of slashing wounds. She looked around the other men. Gawain was bloody, as were Bors and Arthur. Galahad was looking grimly at his friends but seemed unharmed. And Dagonet looked amazed to be alive.

Dagonet looked at the dark creature who had appeared out of the smoke, blue gown smeared with dried blood and red curls darkened to grey with soot. He had crossed the battlefield searching for his comrades to find them alive. He met her eyes as she neared them and watched as she dropped to the ground beside Tristan, slim fingers making short work of the fastenings of his armor. She threw the armor aside, muttering angrily in Irish as she began to inspect his wounds. Her heavy satchel dropped to the ground beside her. She reached forward and began to strip Tristan's tunic from his body.

The scout was the equivalent of a human pin cushion, she decided, assessing his injuries. Some were shallow but several were deep. "You are lucky, sir knight," she reassured the knight quickly, reaching into her bag to pull the jar of honey from the bag, not surprised that it was considerably lighter than before. "With any luck, you'll be bedding some pretty maid in a few weeks," she offered with a quick laugh.

Tristan, unconscious, was unaware of the concern for him from his friends.

Brigid wrapped his wounds with the linen bandages, grey eyes steel in the dim light. She looked at the other warriors, silently praying that none of them would be visiting their version of Tír na nÓg too soon.

Looking to Dagonet, she offered a careful smile. "Sir, can you carry Tristan?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

Dagonet nodded and bent to lift Tristan. The much smaller knight seemed to disappear against the Sarmatian healer. Soon knights, Woad and healer were headed back to the fortress.

Brigid held the door open as the knights came into the healing rooms, Gawain's arm thrown around Galahad's shoulder for support as Gawain was helped up the stairs, Bors grunting with pain as he climbed the stairs, Arthur white-faced with strain as Gueneviere helped her lover forward, and Lancelot groaning with each movement. Tristan was silent as the grave as Dagonet placed him on a pallet. Brigid dropped to the ground beside the scout and began to wash the grime and blood from the scout's slim frame.

Fulcina, meanwhile, guided Lancelot to a pallet, her brown eyes assessing her lover's wounds.

"Remind to move the healing rooms to the first floor," breathed Arthur from his seat on a cot.

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Brigid stood in the doorway of the healing room. Dagonet stood against the wall, watching as Lancelot regaled the still bed-bound knights with current events. Tristan, still on bedrest from his wounds three weeks after the battle, was at least awake if not cooperative. Brigid whispered a silent thanks that none of the knights had been struck with fever. Gawain, wounded in the back, was mending as well, his humor returning with his health. Both men were listening to Arthur's second in command tell them of Arthur's offer of marriage to Gueneviere and of the woad princess's acceptance of the Roman's proposal.

Brigid smiled. Three men who would have died had changed their own fates were in that room. The Woads tasked by Merlin had done their duty, holding off Cedric long enough for Arthur to fight the Saxon leader and defeat him instead of allowing the giant Saxon to slash Tristan to death. The attentions of Fulcina had turned Lancelot's attentions away from Gueneviere so that he thought clearly on the battlefield and killed Cyrnic, rather than leaving the lad to kill him. And Dagonet…

Brigid's smile left her face as she found the Sarmatian healer watching her, his expression unreadable from the patch of wall opposite her that he was leaning against. She dropped the rag she had been twisting in her hands and slipped out of the door, her feet finding sure tread on the steps as she hurried.

The sun was warm for the first time in a long time and it felt good on Brigid's face as she lifted her face. Sighing, she started walking, not quite sure where she was headed. When she saw the tavern, she smiled. The tavern was bustling and Vanora had taken over the tavern when the tavern owner had fled with the Romans. The beautiful lover of Bors made a good tavern owner, Brigid decided as she stepped within the darkened tavern.

She took a deep breath. I did not just run away from the healing rooms, she decided. I came to the tavern to get lunch. Claiming a spot on a bench, she looked around the dim tavern.

A mug of mead was set on the table before her. Looking up, she found herself face to face with a beaming Vanora. The woman dropped opposite and smiled at the healer. "Thank you for taking such good care of my Bors."

Brigid blushed and took a sip from the mead, savoring the sweetness. "I was glad to be of service. Besides, your lover is a brick wall--I'm not certain anything couldn't bounce off his hide."

Vanora grinned. "Aye, he's built like a bull but he's my Bors."

Brigid nodded.

"Am I correct that you cook?" asked the tavern owner, eyes narrowing.

Brigid nodded again. "I used to cook for the priestesses before I came here." She offered a small smile. "I miss it. All I seem to do any more is bury men."

Vanora nodded, staring at the healer thoughtfully. When Bors had broached his little scheme to make the two healers spend more time with each other by getting Brigid into the tavern, Vanora had scoffed at the idea of the healer working in the tavern. But then Tristan had tugged the newly minted tavern owner to sit on the edge of his sickbed during her visit and whispered that Brigid could cook quite well, the scout careful to keep his voice too low for the healer to hear as she fussed over Gawain's dressings. So many of the girls who once worked at the tavern had left with the Romans, fearing the Saxons more than the Latin invaders, that Vanora was hard-pressed to find cooks or serving wenches to tend the men willing to spend their coin. If Tristan thought her a good cook then Brigid would serve well enough for Vanora's purposes.

"I have a proposition for you, lady."

Brigid shook her head, swallowing the mead that she had sipped during the silence. "I am no lady and would make a terrible serving girl, mum. I could never hope to remember what any man had asked for."

Vanora shook her head again then rested her cheek against her hand. "I have serving girls enough to warm the laps of the men. What I need is a cook. If you're willing, I would pay you a decent wage. Enough to keep food in your belly and maybe buy a new dress."

Brigid smiled ruefully, looking down at the dress that had seen so much wear since Fulcina had gifted it to her, the remnants of the blood of Badon Hill washed away with most of the blue dye. "Aye, that would be nice. I accept. I need something to keep me busy."

Vanora swallowed a victorious smile and nodded slightly at the thickly built knight who shared her bed. She watched Bors's eyes light up and turned back to the healer. "Now, let's show you your new domain. After all, feeding men is like giving them life. At least you would think it the way my Bors eats."

TBC….

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**Translations: **

Tír na nÓg: An otherworld where sickness and death do not exist and is a land of eternal youth and beauty and is the equivalent of the Norse Valhalla or the Greek Elysium.

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

Homeric: You are an angel. Thank you for telling me how to accept anonymous reviews--I love to get feedback from all my readers so that was really neat to find out. And thank you for your wonderful review. I'm so glad you enjoyed the love scene--I needed to give some loving to Dagonet. And the fight was fun, though sad, you're right. I'm glad you like Fulcina and Lancelot--the man needs someone who can take his guff. I hope this chapter fulfilled your expectations and made you breathe a little easier.

Samantha: I'm glad you like how Fulcina and Lancelot became lovers and how he was surprised that she wasn't some frail flower. I'm glad I listened to my husband about that pairing. I hope I satisfied your request for more with this chapter. I'm also very happy you like Dagonet and Brigid. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And here's more. Sorry that it took me a few days. But more is coming.

shariena: Yay! Glad that you are enjoying! More is coming.

Scouter: As you command, Tristan has survived. So far.

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	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: I've said it before and I'll say it again: I have no idea where this story is going. These characters seem to have taken up a spare room in my brain and are throwing plot twists and bungie-jumping into my subconscious at every turn. There is an end coming and possibly a sequel. After all, I completely ignored most of the knights. And that's just not right. Not right at all.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter Eleven: Contemplation**

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Six weeks after Badon Hill and Tristan had finally been released from bed-rest. Gawain had been in the saddle for two weeks by the time Brigid released the scout from his forced convalescence. Tristan had actually followed the little healer's instructions, learning in a month and a half of close proximity that it was not wise to anger the healer.

Dagonet had watched Brigid mothering the scout as she finally let him out of the healing rooms. She was fussing with his collar and rattling off instructions and orders even as she looked for latent illness. The scout had become a surrogate little brother, even if he was older than she by several years. She even stockpiled apples from a source that even Dagonet couldn't discover so that her patient would be at least a little contented while she held him captive.

Dagonet watched as she sighed wistfully, watching the scout disappear in the morning light. She rubbed her arms and headed back into the healing rooms, oblivious to the Sarmatian's careful watch, her mind mulling over the comforts of family.

Dagonet sighed and his body seemed to collapse as he sat down on a low bench, the closed door to the healing rooms goading him. He and Brigid had shared pleasantries and greetings but both were very careful around each other, almost as if they were trying to avoid another eruption. What he wouldn't give to tell the Hibernian that he had overreacted and for her to tell him that that night had been as magical as he remembered. He stood and started towards the healing room door, his hand raised to knock on the door.

He paused and shook his head. He'd already put his heart on the line once with this strange woman. If she wanted him she would have to make the first move.

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Brigid pushed back her hair and stirred the stew that had been warming for hours. The smells that rose from the thick stew reminded her of home. She had been up since before dawn baking bread and preparing for the day's cooking. With the knights no longer under her care, her attentions had moved to her new position as tavern cook. The knights would be leaving tomorrow before dawn to go on a scouting mission and would soon be descending on the tavern like ravening dogs as if the food they ate before they left would be the last they would ever eat. There was also cause for celebration since this was the first time that both Gawain and Tristan would be allowed on patrol since Badon Hill, their pleas finally causing Brigid to relent from telling Arthur that the men should be on light duty only.

It had been Dagonet, his voice soft but firm, who had convinced Brigid to allow the knights to go on patrol. He had looked into her soul with his sky blue eyes and offered a sad smile as he explained the need the men had to have Gawain and Tristan back among them. It had taken all of her self-control not to touch his cheek and try to take away that sadness. He had seemed to sense her impulse and stood from the table they had shared for their conversation.

The moment was gone in a breath and Brigid retreated to the kitchens where she had hid until the evening. She frowned as she ladled stew into wooden bowls and set them on a tray for the serving girl to take to the men. Why was she acting like a frightened rabbit? Dagonet was a gentle man who deserved more than she was giving him at the moment. He deserved her honesty, not her fear.

Swinging the cauldron from the heat, she set the ladle on the nearby table and made her decision. She pulled off the apron, straightened her riotous hair as best she could and stepped from the heat of the kitchen to the bustling tavern. She spotted the knights scattered near the front of the tavern, Lancelot losing a dismal game of knucklebones, Tristan slicing an apple into sections and sliding the juicy flesh between his teeth, Gawain and Galahad throwing daggers at a stool they had set up as a target. Athur and Gueneviere were talking with Lancelot across a table, the soon-to-be married couple sitting very close on the bench opposite the notorious lothario. Vanora was seated on Bors lap, giggling at something the sturdily built knight said.

Dagonet was nursing an ale, shoulders slumped as he looked at some far away place only he could see.

Brigid stopped, holding her breath, as she neared the knight. He certainly had not noticed that the tavern's cook had appeared from the kitchen but the others had. Gawain was sipping from his cup of ale, eyes taking in the look of apprehension then determination that passed over Brigid's features as he waited for Galahad to throw his knife. He flicked his blue eyes to Tristan's, knowing the scout thought the same thing: either things would go very good or very bad in a matter of minutes.

Dagonet looked up, suddenly realizing that his companions had ceased their conversations. Blue eyes widened when he found Brigid standing in front of him, a hand reaching out to him. He rose quickly and took the proffered hand, not caring where she was leading.

They stopped just outside the tavern, still protected by the overhang from the slight drizzle that fell from the sky but beyond the range of listening ears.

Or so they thought as Galahad listened intently, waving off Gawain who was trying in vain to give their silent brother some privacy.

"Dagonet, I'm an idiot. I know that I did everything wrong that night but I had to tell you…" she trailed off as Dagonet lifted her chin so that she wasn't looking at the middle of his chest.

Dagonet shook his head, starting to speak, only to have a soft hand placed over his lips.

"Don't stop me, Dagonet, or I won't get it all out." She searched his face, trying to determine his reaction to her speech. "You asked me if that night meant nothing. That night was wonderful. I won't tell you that I regret that night." She had a mutinous set to her chin.

Dagonet stared down at the woman, his eyes looking for the truth and finding it. She, not being a mind-reader, took his silence for disdain.

"I won't trouble you again, Dagonet," she offered, turning from the Sarmatian to hide her tears.

The hand turning her none to gently back to him stopped her escape.

"I overreacted," admitted Dagonet, pulling the healer to him, inhaling the scent of her hair as he brought her even closer. "I, of all people, should understand duty."

Brigid sniffled against his tunic, small fists caught in the fabric. For the first time in weeks she felt safe.

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Fulcina ran the brush through her still damp hair, watching in the mirror as the door opened from the hallway. Dark curls and darker armor slipped through the door and Fulcina smiled. She was enjoying being a wanton, she decided. She had been tasked with helping Gueneviere manage the care of Castellus. She had run a household for Marius Honorius and running the household of Castellus was not that different.

All day Lancelot would spar and train with his brothers and Fulcina would tend to the castle, making sure that beds were made, chamber pots emptied, clothes washed, and the knights tended to.

They had fallen into a routine of sorts. Lancelot would go to the tavern with his comrades while Fulcina would have her final meeting of the day with Gueneviere to update the soon-to-be queen with the status of the household and then retire to her rooms. In the bedchamber, Fulcina would lay in a bath to relax after a full day then prepare herself for bed. Sometime during her preparations, Lancelot would appear.

Fulcina watched as the man she had come to share her body and bed with dropped his armor on a chair. Watched as he ran his hands through his thick curls. Watched as he dropped onto her bed and met her eyes in the polished bronze mirror.

"Don't you tire of watching me?" he asked ruefully.

Fulcina shook her head, still watching him in the mirror. "Never."

Lancelot pulled his tunic over his head, his body stretching catlike in the candlelight. The light dusting of hair on his chest swept in a narrow line to disappear beneath his breeches. The muscles that he used in battle were well-defined but not bulging like some of the stongmen Fulcina had once witnessed in Rome. Everything about her lover bespoke power, grace and deadliness. If she were honest those words could describe all of the knights and their leader.

"You leave tomorrow."

Lancelot nodded and pulled off his boots, dropping them heavily on the wooden floor. "Before dawn." He looked at the woman whose bed he had possessed for over a month. "I want you to stay near Gueneviere. She can protect you."

This caused Fulcina to turn in her chair, arm resting on the back of the chair as she met Lancelot's eyes. "I worry about you," she admitted softly.

The candlelight did not hide her beauty, thought Lancelot as his brown eyes took in the milky skin, the rounded curves, and the intelligence in her eyes. He rose, knowing that they would have to make the most of their time. "Gods, woman, come here," he commanded with a grin.

The Christian woman went to the arms of the pagan with a sigh. She found herself pressed against his half-clothed form, breasts pressed against his bare chest, only her simple shift separating them.

The silk garment drifted to the ground and Lancelot lowered his mouth to Fulcina's, nibbling her bottom lip as her arms laced behind the back of his neck. They fell back onto the bed together, determined to memorize each angle and plane of the others body.

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Tristan stroked the breast feathers of his hawk, a contemplative expression on his angular face. He had heard Brigid whispering to Fulcina one night when they were tending to his wounds about visions and the future. He hadn't known what to make of it until the tiny healer had retired to a cot under duress and Dagonet had taken up the role of healer in her stead. Then he had heard from Dagonet of her visions. He didn't know what to make of this tiny woman who could frighten even he, one of the most frightening of the Sarmatian knights, into obeying her commands.

He started to understand why the seers on that far off island had sent the tiny flame-haired woman south. He watched the sky deepen to near black from his perch on the battlements. Soon they would ride out into the forests of this strange island and Tristan itched to ride.

He knew that the women that they left behind were more than capable of taking care of themselves. Nevertheless, he whispered a silent prayer to the gods of his father that all would be safe while he and the knights did their duty.

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Brigid stretched carefully, looking to her right to find that Dagonet's presence in her bed was not a figment of her imagination. Of course the soreness in her body should have told her it was not a dream as did the memories of hours of shared pleasure. Her body had the familiar sated warmth that had filled her the night before Badon Hill. She reached out and stroked the stubbled cheek of Dagonet, earning a soft sigh from the sleeping giant. The sun had not yet risen and Brigid could hear the soft jangling of the horses bridles in the still air. Her lover's time was Arthur's, not hers.

"Dagonet," Brigid whispered, hand resting on his bare shoulder.

Dagonet blinked awake then rolled on top of Brigid, his forearm pressed against her throat. The strangled gasp beneath him brought him back to himself and the Sarmatian quickly rolled off Brigid and sat up, running his hands over his face. "I'm sorry."

Brigid laughed softly, shaking her head. "Now I know not to wake you in arms reach," she offered lightly, trying to soothe him. He was not the first warrior to attack when woken unexpectedly. Her own father had nearly gutted her mother after an exceptionally bloody campaign. She slid her legs off the edge of the bed and stood, reaching for a thin shift and slipping it over her head.

Dagonet watched as she slipped a gown over the shift, noting that the gown was the same shade of blue worn by the Woads. "Promise me that you will be safe."

Brigid looked over her shoulder at the giant in her bed, a wistful glitter in her eyes. "I expect the same promise."

Dagonet grinned and rose from the bed, reaching for his breeches and quickly pulling them back up his sinewed legs. He began to lace the breeches closed, his eyes on the red-haired woman. She was staring down at the courtyard, her body tense. "I will return," he reminded gently.

Brigid smiled and turned at her lover. "Of course you will. All the same," she stepped to him, taking his hand and pressing it to her heart. "Return to me," she whispered.

Dagonet leaned down and captured the young woman's lips in a kiss so gentle that it reminded the healer of a breeze. "Always."

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Black eyes watched the wall, gnarled hands clutching a knotted staff with a strength belied by her obvious years. The woman in the brown cloak knew that her quarry lay within the stone walls and that it would only be a matter of bait to draw her out. In the meantime, she would be safe hidden within the woods until she could draw her prey to her.

The old woman grinned, rotting teeth glittering wetly in the moonlight.

Soon all would be set right, she promised.

TBC….

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

homeric: I did a happy dance too when I didn't kill the knights. I'm glad you like the Vanora angle--we'll be seeing more of her in upcoming chapters. And I'm glad you wanted a reconciliation.

BleedingTwilight: Yay! Glad you are enjoying that I didn't kill Tristan. And I hope you enjoyed the reunion between Dagonet and Brigid. There is more and it's coming straight from some dark corner of my brain.

shariena: Glad I'm keeping you curious. Now just to keep you curious.

Samantha: I'm so glad you are enjoying the evilness that is matchmaking. As requested, more Lancelot and Fulcina.

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	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: I can't begin to tell everyone how much I appreciate the reviews. I'm glad that I'm keeping it interesting for you and I hope that it keeps holding your interest. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter Twelve: Bait**

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Brigid watched as the horses disappeared out the gates of the fortress, a piece of her heart going with Dagonet as he thundered into the darkness. She spotted Vanora, wrapped in a heavy shawl, standing watching their retreating backs. Walking quickly, she reached the mother and touched her arm.

"Brigid, what are you doing up?" asked Vanora, somewhat surprised.

Brigid smiled. "The same as you. I was about to go to work. I believe that I have to clean up what I got distracted from last night."

Vanora shook her head, leading her cook into the tavern. "No, Brigid. Between Bors, Gawain, Tristan and Galahad, they finished off the rest of the stew. The pot is in need of scrubbing but at least your cooking did not go to waste."

Brigid grinned. She would never have to worry about what to do with the remainders of her cooking as long as the knights were around. As they entered the kitchens, they found Lucan and Three speaking softly, their heads close together.

"Lucan!" cried Brigid in surprise. The two children sprang apart, Three smoothing down her skirt and refusing the meet the women's eyes. "What were you doing?" the healer demanded of the boy, taking in the blush spreading across his cheeks.

"Talking," muttered Lucan.

Brigid crossed her arms over her chest and looked down at the boy who had become a surrogate son to her. "Go play. And no more _talking_ alone unless you have Mistress Vanora's permission," she ordered, nodding to a bemused Vanora.

The two children raced out of the kitchen and the women looked at each other.

"I shouldn't be surprised. I was twelve summers like Three when I met Bors." The tavern keeper smiled wistfully and turned to the healer.

Brigid shuddered and shook her head. "I apologize, Vanora. Dagonet and I will have a talk with Lucan."

Vanora had to smother a smile at the thought of the priestess explaining the birds and the bees to the boy rescued from Marius's dungeon. "I think he already knows what he's about."

"Not with your daughter. Not without your permission." Brigid's grey eyes were unyielding as she started to scrub the pot clean.

Vanora leaned her hip against a table and watched her cook cleaning. "So you and Dagonet are _talking_ now?"

Brigid blushed and scrubbed harder. "I suppose that's what it could be called, Vanora." She rinsed out the pot and set it upside down to dry. She turned to find that the tavern owner was trying valiantly not to burst out laughing. "I'm sure that you did your fair share of _talking_ with Bors last night," she grumbled.

Vanora laughed and pushed herself off the table. "That we did. 'Course that's how we ended up with Eleven," she admitted thoughtfully.

Brigid watched her employer wander back into the tavern proper and began the task of preparing the bread for the ovens. Kneading the dough, she allowed her mind to wander. It was well past dawn when Brigid put the risen dough into pans and set the bread to bake in the clay oven.

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Vanora kissed Eleven and laid him back in the cradle that had held One through Eleven. One was drawing a needle through the wool cloth and looked up at her mother.

"What is it, mama?" asked the girl, pushing back her dark hair that was a mirror of Bors's color as a young man.

Vanora stepped to her eldest child and kissed One's cheek. "Just thinking that I'm very lucky to have such a beautiful daughter."

One pressed her fingers to her cheek and looked up at her mother in surprise. "Are you alright, mama?"

Vanora nodded and watched as Eight and Nine played on the rug before the hearth. "Three has taken an interest in Brigid's boy Lucan." She fixed a careful eye on One, whose mouth had fallen open in shock. "Keep an eye on her and make sure that you don't become an aunt too soon," she warned with a smile

One nodded and set her sewing aside as she rose from her chair. "I'll keep an eye on her. And if need be I'll have a little chat with Lucan about messing around with Bors's daughter."

Vanora smiled as she saw the anger come into her daughter's eyes and knew that Three's virtue might be safe but Lucan would certainly not be if One got her hands on the boy. She shut the door behind herself as she left the cottage, smiling at having nursed Eleven to sleep and at having set One with a task worthy of the beauty. She was unaware that she was being watched from an alley.

The old woman watched the red-haired beauty leave her cottage and stride purposefully towards the tavern.

"Excuse me, daughter," called the crone, creaking towards Bors's woman on aged limbs.

Vanora turned her head and smiled warmly before heading towards the old woman. "Yes, grandmother. What can I do for you?" she asked.

She never saw the weighted leather bag that slammed into her neck and sent her pitching forward to the ground, the blackness of unconsciousness pouring over her.

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Brigid pulled the browned loaves from the oven and set them on the thick wood top of the table. The smell filled the kitchen and Brigid sliced off several thick slices of the bread for Vanora. Setting them in a piece of cloth, she stepped into the tavern to find it empty. Frowning, she stepped outside the tavern into the bright sunlight of midmorning to look for her friend.

Something red and green caught her eye and Brigid stepped closer to investigate. The green was fabric from Vanora's skirt. She recognized the cloth and knew that Vanora had in fact been wearing the skirt when they'd entered the tavern together. She picked up the fabric, her fingers sticking to the red. She sniffed and reared back, recognizing the tangy metallic smell of the blood.

She tightened her grip on the fabric and closed her eyes, willing a vision to come to her. It came in fits and starts and Brigid had to crouch low to the ground to keep from falling, one hand braced on the hard ground.

In the vision, Vanora was bound hand and foot, blood running from cuts on her arms, legs and head in the shape of ancient runes. An old woman stood before the woman, a dagger in her hand. All around them were old trees that framed the clearing they occupied.

Brigid stood on shaky legs and began to run towards the stable. Thankfully Jols had gone with the knights so he was not present to scold her for stealing a horse. She grabbed a halter and stepped into the stall of a grey mare. She clucked softly to the horse, trying to squash the fear that rose as she stood beside the huge beast, and slid the halter over the head of the horse.

She whinnied and nuzzled closer to Brigid.

Brigid took hold of the lead rope and guided the horse out of the stall. She knew from the condition she saw in her vision that Vanora would need help returning to the fortress. She laid blankets on the back of the horse and hurried from the fortress, the horse plodding along beside her.

The forests loomed closer with each step and Brigid summoned every ounce of courage in her being not to run back to the fortress. She entered the darkness of the forest, the sun blotted out by the canopy of thick leaves. The only sounds were the breathing of she and the horse and the soft jangle of the horse's halter.

They walked for ages, carefully picking their way through the undergrowth.

The clearing opened up before them with a suddenness that startled Brigid. Vanora lay on the ground, eye closed and a gag tied around her head. Her hands were tied as were her feet but Brigid could not see the cuts of the vision.

"I wondered how long it would take for you to come," admitted a strangely familiar voice.

Brigid shuddered as the old woman stepped from the shadows, teeth rotting to black and white hair hanging in stringy braids like ill-carded wool. Her skin was withered and pale and her bones showed through her thin skin. "Alaisiagae," breathed Brigid, fear filling her eyes. She had wondered why the priestess of the goddess of war had not followed her brother to Hadrian's wall. Now, it seemed that she had.

"I have missed you, sweet Brigid. You are a difficult maid to find." She cocked her head to one side and cackled. "But then you are no longer a maid. Have you told him?" she asked.

Brigid straightened and curled a lip in disgust at the hag before her. "Told him what?" she asked.

"That his child grows inside you," answered Alaisiagae, her eyes lighting up in triumph. "He doesn't know? Oh, my dear, we'll have to gift him the child."

Brigid stiffened.

"After we cut it out of you, that is."

Brigid swallowed. "Why are you here? The battle is over. Cedric fell. Cyrnic fell. That was as it was to be."

Alaisiagae shook her head. "You do not understand, my little flower. They may have been meant to fall but them--" she pointed towards the direction of the fortress, "those men that you saved were to have led the way for them to Helheim. You have cost the lives of my people and saved men who were destined to die."

Brigid backed up. "Alaisiagae, no one is destined to die. If it can be seen it can be changed."

Alaisiagae grinned, showing more blackened teeth. It was a miracle that the old woman was still alive. Perhaps the venom that filled her veins was the reason for her elder years. "You still do not understand, do you child? The fate that we see is their fate, written in stone. You have tampered in what you should not. And for what?" asked the old woman, searching her onetime student's eyes. "For a man to slide between your legs?"

Brigid stiffened. "And what of my fate?" she grated out. She had noted that Vanora had woken during Alaisiagae's speech and was trying to untie herself. If she distracted Alaisiagae long enough, perhaps the old woman would forget the bait that had led the healer there. "What do you see for me, old woman? Do you see me driving my fingers into your eyes, blinding you?"

Alaisiagae grinned, though it was more of a grimace. "You have fire. I always admired that about you." The old woman stepped closer and Brigid had to fight the urge to run. "But I wonder, how brave will you be when that one escapes and leaves you here alone with me?'

Brigid startled. So, Alaisiagae had noticed Vanora's waking. She watched as Vanora did indeed start to creep towards the woods. It wasn't until Vanora had disappeared into the darkness that she finally turned her eyes on the old woman.

"Do what you will, crone. I am not afraid of you."

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The screams echoed in Vanora's ears as she clambored atop the grey mare and rode back to the fortress. She had been bait for the old woman to capture her friend. She knew where she had to go. She tumbled off the horse and into the arms of one of the guards, asking for Gueneviere before she slumped once again into unconsciousness.

TBC….

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**Alaisiagae** - Norse goddess of war.

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

homeric: Don't worry, my brain is mush. I'm glad that you're enjoying the way the couples are handling everything. I'm also glad that you enjoyed the reconciliation. And I'm glad that I've intrigued you with the strange woman. Yay! More is coming.

Samantha: I'm glad you like the entire Christian/Pagan thing. This chapter should start to clarify the hag and her relationship to Brigid. More is coming.

shariena: Glad that you enjoyed the previous chapters. And here's the next installment.

Lady Marek: So glad that you enjoyed the knights surviving and the way Dag and Brigid got back together. More is coming.

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	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

_**Warning: This chapter is violent and is altogether adult. Please, if you are not old enough to read this, do not read this. Please. **_

Author's note: This has been one of the most enjoyable stories to write that I've ever written. And the very best part has been the readers. Thank you to everyone for the wonderful reviews and for the inspiration your comments has provided. As before, responses to my wonderful reviewers is at the end.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter Thirteen: Crone **

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Brigid memorized the bark of the oak tree before her eyes, sweat dripping down her forehead and her nose as she waited for Alaisiagae's next move. The old seer had an assistant, an obviously not so bright but very burly young man, who had tied her to the tree and then returned to his task of guarding his mistress.

Alaisiagae had not even bothered to rip the gown down the back, instead snapping the Roman bullwhip across the clearing to tear into Brigid's back. After a dozen lashes the old woman was exhausted and dropped the whip to the forest floor. Now a dozen ragged stripes crisscrossed her back over older marks, the wool gown shredded and embedded in her back.

"Why do you not cry?" demanded Alaisiagae as she stormed to the side of her captive. "What will it take to wring tears from you, whore?" she asked, gripping Brigid's chin in her hand.

Brigid pulled back and bared her teeth in a snarl. It had been years since the old woman had been a friend to her, her golden eyes warm and loving. Now the same woman who had whispered fairy tales was standing before her, determined to break the healer. Throat raw from screaming, she smirked. "Alaisiagae, you will have to do better than this," she warned, nodding to the abandoned whip. "The Romans are better at this than you."

Alaisiagae let loose a fist, slamming it into Brigid's cheek and thereby slamming Brigid's head into the tree. The healer slumped momentarily, the wounds on her back stretching painfully. "You are not worth the mud on my shoes, whore. You took the only two people worthy of surviving." She waited, watching as Brigid slowly regained consciousness. "Why didn't you save my brother?"

Brigid frowned and shook her head. She had to get through to this once-kind woman. "You of all people should know the answer. Your mind is clouded by grief. Let it go."

Another thrown fist, this time into her ribs and Brigid grunted in pain. "You turned your back on your destiny to spread your legs for a Sarmatian slave. You are nothing more than a prostitute. I should let the boy use you."

Brigid straightened, her feet finding purchase on the forest floor. She looked over her shoulder at the old woman with a dangerous glitter in her grey eyes. "Let your servant enjoy me. And I will turn him against you."

A flicker of doubt passed through Alaisiagae's eyes. Was this the frightened slip of a girl who had clung to the skirts of the older priestesses to hide from her during Alaisiagae's visits to Ynys Môn those long years ago? The girl had changed into a woman who seemed to spit flame with each jibe. "I would never allow it."

Brigid sneered at her onetime friend. "You are old and withered, Alaisiagae. He is young and vital. I doubt he wishes to plow your furrow, crone." She forced strength into her voice even as she felt blood seeping from the slashes on her back. Shock, blood loss or exposure would kill her if Alaisiagae did not hurry.

Alaisiagae frowned and looked towards the direction the boy had gone. "We'll see, whore."

Brigid let out a breath when Alaisiagae went in search of the boy. _Everything hurt._ She looked up, starting when she saw a man bathed in blue looking down at her. The man in the tree rested his finger against his lips, silencing her cry of surprise. Brigid nodded and rested her cheek against the bark of the tree, willing to bide her time.

Alaisiagae reappeared moments later, a flustered boy's arm gripped in an iron vise. "Whore!" she shrieked at Brigid.

Brigid turned slowly until she faced the woman, her rent back painfully pressed to the bark if only to remain conscious. "Declined her, eh?" she asked the boy. "Alaisiagae, you asked my why I did not save Cerdic or Cyrnic. I did not save them because they could not be saved. Not if I was to do as I was tasked."

Alaisiagae dropped the boy's arm and stepped forward. "What was your task?" she breathed harshly.

Brigid turned her head from the filthy breath. "Saxon hordes are at the door. My work was to stop them."

Alaisiagae reached forward, fingers wrapping around Brigid's throat. The healer looked on the old woman with pity even as her vision began to blacken at the edges. Alaisiagae had been a good woman. The healer could only wonder what she herself would do if all she loved was taken away from her.

Fingers tightened then loosened as an arrow whistled across the clearing. Brigid felt Alaisiagae fall away from her and opened her eyes to look down into the old woman's now vacant gaze. Looking up, she found Gueneviere looking at her across the clearing.

A sob burst from her lips and Brigid sagged against the ropes hanging her wrists from the tree. Tears poured down her cheeks as she stared at the old woman who had lost so much.

The rope around her wrists was cut and she sagged to the forest floor, her palms falling flat on the dirt.

"Vanora?" she asked hoarsely, looking up to Gueneviere who had crossed to her.

Gueneviere shook her head. "Unconscious when I left." She looked to the dead woman's body and the boy who had fallen soon after, an arrow piercing his throat.

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Gueneviere stood at the doorway to the healing rooms, watching as Fulcina carefully changed the dressings on Brigid's back. Vanora had recovered quickly from the attack by the Saxon witch and was tending to Lucan until Brigid was released from Fulcina's care.

The Hibernian healer was an exceptionally bad patient.

Brigid huffed and looked over her shoulder at Fulcina, trying not to stretch her back. The Roman woman was incredibly patient and Brigid knew that she was stretching that patience very thin. To be honest, Brigid would have foregone Fulcina's care save for the fact that she's fainted on the way back to the fortress and therefore had no choice in being carried to the healing rooms.

Gueneviere stifled a chuckle as Brigid struggled up to a sitting position. The whipping had left her back a bloody mess, but it would heal. Honey had been smeared on the flesh to kill infection and bandages covered her torso from hip to shoulder.

Brigid huffed and sat still as Fulcina dropped a thin shift over her shoulders and let the linen puddle around the healer's hips. "Can I go now?" Brigid asked testily.

Fulcina shook her head and pushed on Brigid's shoulder, indicating that she should lie down again. Brigid laid on her stomach, grimacing as a sheet was pulled up to her waist.

She heard a rustle and watched as Gueneviere lowered herself into the chair beside the bed. "How are you feeling?" asked Gueneviere.

Brigid ground her teeth. "Fine."

Gueneviere nodded. She didn't believe her friend but then she knew that it had been a long several days for the healer. First to find that her friend and employer had been kidnapped. Then to be tortured by an old friend. Finally to watch that friend drop to the forest floor, an arrow piercing her throat, and know that she couldn't have changed any of it.

The argument about Brigid heading off alone without telling anyone where she was going would come later. Vanora and she had been lucky--the only ones to die had been Saxons. The woman who had kidnapped Vanora and tortured Brigid was dead, her ashes scattered to the four winds. Her minion, a brawny man with less intelligence than muscle, had fallen before Alaisiagae, relieving her of the support of her man. His body had been buried in the ground near where he fell.

Thankfully the men were still on patrol and Gueneviere was silently thankful that Dagonet and Bors had not been at the fortress when Vanora fell unconscious and it was discovered that Brigid was missing. A message had not been sent recalling the men, the decision left to Vanora and Brigid, the women deciding independently that the patrol was more important than having their men come home and hold their hands.

Brigid especially had not wanted to summon Dagonet back early, needing time to wrap her mind around the information that Alaisiagae had tried to hurt her with. Alaisiagae had had a gift for sensing new life, one that she had once used in her healing, and the old woman was never wrong about that.

"Brigid?" came the rich voice of Vanora from the doorway.

Brigid smiled, opening her eyes. Gueneviere had left, indicating that quite probably Brigid had fallen asleep. Vanora looked tired. "Come sit, Vanora," the healer instructed, pushing herself up from the cot, biting her bottom lip as her back stretched.

Vanora did as instructed and dropped into the chair that Gueneviere had vacated. "One had a talk with Lucan," she advised, looking exhausted. "I believe the boy might think his life in danger."

Brigid laughed, wincing as her wounds pulled. "Is it?"

Vanora shrugged, twisting the fabric of her skirt in her fingers. "If One finds him with Three, it might be."

"What is wrong?" asked Brigid, winded as she finally got herself upright and noticing Vanora's obvious discomfort.

Vanora looked up, unshed tears filling her eyes. "I left you with that _thing_."

Brigid smiled and reached for the older woman, pulling her into her arms. "Vanora, if you had stayed you would have been killed," she whispered. "Then what would I have done? Bors would have killed me."

Vanora giggled and rubbed her nose against her sleeve. "He wouldn't dare. Dagonet would kill him," she joked.

Brigid chuckled darkly.

TBC….

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

homeric: Yup, cliffhangers 'r us is my middle name. Well, not really. But I'm glad that you are enjoying. Alaisiagae is a truly nasty piece of work, I agree. And I'm glad that you are enjoying Lucan and Three. As my husband noted, Brigid doesn't seem to want Lucan to become another Lancelot.

BleedingTwilight: Yay! I'm so glad that you're finding it interesting. And as long as my muses keep bribing me, I'll keep writing this. And don't worry, it just keeps churning out of my fetid brain so I won't leave you hanging long.

Saxongirl1345: Yay! Thank you for letting me know you're enjoying. Can't promise that nothing bad will happen since my muses are having way too much fun. And here's another chapter.

shariena: Thank you for the wonderful review. I'm glad you're still enjoying. As requested, the next chapter. The next chapter may take a few days since I'm back to work on Monday.

Anime Princess: I'm so glad that you're enjoying. And I'm of the opinion that anyone who bears 11 children has to have a great deal of courage. I'm so glad that you're enjoying. I hope that this chapter doesn't disappoint.

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	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: Don't ask me why, but I seem to be channeling Titus Pullo from HBO's Rome (probably because Ray Stevenson is incredible in that as well) for a lot of Dagonet's scenes. For the record, I love my reviewers. You all are my angels and your comments are keeping me inspired to write this thing. Please keep the reviews coming. And I would also like to say thank you to my wonderful husband for being willing to keep reading this and get these chapters out to y'all. Also, if any of you are interested in what song seems to embody this song, my husband suggests Daughtry's "Home." J

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter Fourteen: Homecoming**

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Brigid leaned on the casement of the window, her forearms resting on the stone. Her back itched under the wool of her gown thanks to the healing stripes. Her stomach rolled thanks to the baby growing in her belly. And her nerves were a wreck thanks to Dagonet and the Sarmatian knights returning the following morning.

Her first instinct was to run. If she hid long enough, maybe she would come up with an intelligent way to explain the last two weeks to Dagonet. Of course if she hid then Dagonet would think that she was angry and they would keep circling each other like warriors on a battlefield for weeks again.

Brigid sighed and let her head rest against the stones of the window, ignoring the rather spectacular sunset in front of her.

"What is wrong?" came the gentle voice of Fulcina. She had just finished inspecting the new stripes that crisscrossed Brigid's back, pronouncing them free of infection and well on the mend. They even lacked the tenderness of the first few days. The Roman woman had also been kind enough to loan Brigid yet another gown. At this rate, thought Brigid, Fulcina will have no gowns at all.

"I am fine. Just nervous."

Fulcina smiled and sat down on the edge of her bed. "Ah."

Brigid frowned and looked over her shoulder. "Ah?"

Fulcina nodded. "Ah. I will admit that telling your lover that you are with child is no easy task. I remember when I was pregnant with Alecto I had difficulty finding the words."

Brigid nodded. "And how did Marius react?"

"He ignored me. But then he married to me out of duty, not love," admitted Fulcina. "Not like your Dagonet, I believe."

"We'll see."

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Brigid had risen early and spent the morning preparing a welcoming feast for the Sarmatians. Thankfully, Ganis, the young man who volunteered his service to Arthur and had fought at the wall, was quite a good hunter and had managed to bring back rabbit and deer. The aromas of cooking meat filled the tavern and already had lured people from their daily lives to sample the stews and roasted meats that were appearing from the kitchen. Now apples lay in the well of a pie crust and were baking with the bread in the oven.

Only two weeks before the healer had been oblivious to the life in her belly. An old friend turned enemy and then one of Merlin's healers had confirmed that she was, indeed, with child. Aside from the relentless teasing from Fulcina, Vanora and Gueneviere about the baby, nothing had changed. She dusted off her floured hands on her apron and turned the venison on the spit that had been installed over the fire.

Suddenly a pair of hands were on her waist and someone was pressed to her back.

"What--" she started, rearing up and slamming her elbow back into whatever was pressing against. Whatever it was, it had dozens of pointy pyramids and smelled of sweat, horses and a little blood.

"Is that a welcome home?" teased Dagonet as he turned her around in his arms and lifted her to set her on the table to sit. He slipped between her legs and leaned down to look into her eyes.

Brigid giggled and twined her arms around his neck. "Welcome home, darling."

The two lost each other in the kiss they shared for a long moment before Brigid pulled back. "I have a surprise for you," she whispered.

Dagonet chuckled. "What, are you pregnant?" he teased.

The look on Brigid's face told him everything. He swept her up into a bone-crushing hug, forgetting that he was still wearing his studded vest.

"Ouch!" squealed Brigid. "Air!"

Dagonet released Brigid and grinned down at his lover. "I believe that we must celebrate." He lifted her into his arms so that she was cradled and started out the kitchen door and into the tavern.

Brigid shook her head and tried to get down. "The venison! The pies! Dagonet, you must let me down--I'm still cooking!" she shouted, wriggling like a fish in his arms. "Arthur! Gueneviere! Tell this man to let me down!" she ordered as they started past the Sarmatians, the Woad woman and their Roman commander.

Arthur watched as his healer carried Vanora's cook through the tavern. "Dagonet, let the lady down," he ordered with a curious look on his face as he glanced at his future bride who sat beside him.

Dagonet stopped and frowned at his commander, clearly trying decide between insubordination and setting his lover down, then looked down at the woman in his arms who had a pleading expression on her face. "Alright. But you're mine once you're done cooking," he informed Brigid as he slid her down to her feet, taking care to make sure that her body slid against his very aroused body.

Brigid had a glazed look in her grey eyes by the time that she rested on the ground, her hands gripping Dagonet's forearms. "Uh-huh," she nodded, agreeing quickly. Shaking her head to clear it from her confusion, she darted back to the kitchens before the Sarmatian could change his mind.

The other men looked at Dagonet with a mixture of confusion and surprise while Gueneviere just laughed softly.

"Talk, Dag," ordered Bors as Vanora handed her lover a mug of ale.

Vanora grinned and shook her head before kissing her lover's stubbled cheek. "Bors, you should recognize his expression. You've had the same look eleven times."

Bors's and the rest of Dagonet's companions gaped at the tavern owner who grinned back at them as Dagonet claimed a seat between Bors and Gawain. Only Dagonet seemed to be able to wrap his mind around the concept of either Dagonet being a father or Brigid being pregnant, but to be fair the tall Sarmatian had had more time to digest the news.

"Congratulations," offered Tristan finally, raising his glass to the man across the table.

The others followed suit and soon the discussion turned back to the scouting mission they had just returned from. The Saxons had been defeated but not all of the Saxons had been killed. Bands of Saxons still roamed the forests and plains around Hadrian's Wall and raided and pillaged unsuspecting towns and villages.

Dagonet nodded at something that Galahad said, his eyes following the redhead darting back and forth from the kitchen. She sent serving girl after serving girl to their table, food soon covering the surface of the table.

"I think she thought we would be hungry," joked Galahad as he took a bite of venison. He paused, savoring the meat. Soon the other men were digging into the food and most of the food on the table had been consumed. The Sarmatians leaned back, satisfied expressions on their faces.

"Don't tell me that you're done!" scolded Vanora as she and Brigid approached, each carrying a steaming pie. The two women set the pies on the table and Vanora perched on Bors lap. "Brigid has been baking all morning so don't make me regret sending our bastards out to fetch apples," she warned.

Brigid blushed and began to slice the pies, laying the pieces on wooden plates. Suddenly a hand snaked around her waist and she was pulled into Dagonet's lap, her back pressing against his jerkin since he had shed his studded vest.

"This is good," offered Gawain, trying to contain the grin caused by the sight of Brigid swatting ineffectively at Dagonet's wandering hands.

Tristan swallowed his own smile as he watched Brigid shoot a dirty look at Dagonet and drag his hands onto the tabletop, her small hands holding them in an iron grip. "So, should we expect this," he motioned to the food, "each time we come back?" He could live with apple pie as a reward for returning to the fortress alive.

Brigid was struggling to keep Dagonet's hands above the table and looked up at the Sarmatian scout with an exasperated expression. "Yes," she promised through clenched teeth.

"Are you done cooking?" asked Dagonet of the young woman on his lap as he grazed his teeth against Brigid's neck, the man having given up getting his hands loose for the time being when there were other delights to sample.

"I still have to clean--" she offered breathily, eyes at half-mast even as she leaned into him.

Vanora shook her head and smiled at Dagonet. At this rate, they would be on the table naked if she didn't get them out of the tavern. "The girls can clean. Go."

Dagonet grinned and tightened his grip on the cook into his arms. "Then you are done cooking," announced Dagonet as he stood up, Brigid clasped in his arms, and stepped over the bench and towards the entrance of the bar.

Brigid giggled into Dagonet's chest as he made their goodbyes and strode out of the tavern. "Welcome home, Dag," she breathed against his neck as they stepped into the darkness, one hand resting against the back of his neck and the other curled in the fabric of his tunic over his heart.

No one stopped the two as they made their way towards the quarters belonging to the knights and the only pause in their movement forward was as Dagonet opened the door to his rooms. Pushing it open, he carried the young woman in his arms to the center and set her down. His hands rested on her hips, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. He stared down at this woman who had captured him and offered a rare smile at this woman.

Brigid reached up, his smile mirrored in her eyes as she stroked his stubbled chin. "I missed you," she admitted softly.

Dagonet ducked his head to kiss her forehead and sighed. "And I you. It is good to be home." He tugged her tighter and just held her, listening as Brigid breathed. He stepped back and looked down at her again, a thought coming to mind that gave him a wicked grin. "I have an idea," he announced before stepping out of the room.

Brigid stared at the door for a moment before her curiosity took over. She had never been in Dagonet's rooms and she had wondered what his private place was like. There was a large bed with a fur blanket and a pile of thick blankets folded at the end that looked to have been custom-built to fit the tall Sarmatian in front of a small fireplace which put out a comforting warmth. There was a desk with an apparently comfortable chair before it. She pulled it out, marveling at the horses and birds carved into the wood and sat down. The desk was covered with bags and pots of herbs and bottles of liquids. Brigid knew better than to investigate Dagonet's tools of healing and war and let the bottles, jars and bags have a wide berth. Besides, there was so much to explore. She pulled open cabinet doors and peered out the window, not surprised that the healer had a relatively good view of the rolling hills away from the Wall.

A knock at the door drew her from her investigation and she straightened her dress, attempting to look more presentable. A servant girl she had seen in the hallway bowed her way into the room carrying bath sheets and soaps, followed by two thickly built men carrying a heavy copper tub and Dagonet. Her eyebrow rose as the tub was set on the floor and filled with a dozen buckets of steaming water by a quick succession of servants.

"My lady, your bath," Dagonet offered, a wicked look on his face as the last bucket was emptied into the tub.

Brigid watched as the servants left the room and Dagonet threw home the bolt, locking the door. "I could just go to the bathhouse," she offered weakly, the warmth of the water drawing her even as she said it.

A thud drew her attention and she found that Dagonet had stripped off his boots and was unfastening his belt. "Nonsense. Then you would get cold as I carried you back here," he teased as he dropped his shirt to join his boots.

Brigid gasped as Dagonet's pants joined his shirt and boots. She never got tired of seeing the body of this powerful man and shivered despite herself. She watched as Dagonet stepped behind her and felt him begin to unlace her dress, her eyes closing as he parted the fabric.

The fingers stilled as Dagonet drew in a breath, his eyes riveted on the recent lash marks. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

Brigid felt Dagonet trace one of the scabbing scars and sighed. "Cerdic's sister happened. I knew her when I was little. She had the same gift as I. She kidnapped Vanora to lure me into a trap and to torture and kill me to punish me for not keeping Cerdic and Cyrnic alive and to punish me for changing fate to allow Tristan, Lancelot and you to survive. Gueneviere killed her and saved me," she admitted in a small voice.

Dagonet stayed still for a moment, churning emotions fighting for dominance. He was angry at this dead woman, at Gueneviere for not telling him or summoning him, and at Brigid and Vanora for not telling him earlier. But he was also thankful that she was alive and safe and here with him. He would deal with this later, he decided. At the moment he had a healer to seduce and bed.

His fingers went back to unlacing Brigid's gown and the young woman let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Soon the gown was pulled from her and she stood in only her shift and slippers. She felt the shift rising and being lifted over her head and kicked off her slippers, leaving her naked before Dagonet's eyes. His hands swept from shoulder to hip and he turned her around.

"My love, shall we share this bath?" he asked, nuzzling her temple.

Brigid nodded and watched as her lover climbed into the tub, the steaming water lapping to the middle of his chest. She grasped his hand as he held it out and helped her over the lip of the copper tub and settled her in front of him. Lying back against him, she watched the water lap around the edge of the tub, their forms barely distinguishable through the water.

Dagonet scooped a handful of water and let it run down the shoulder of the woman before him. He'd imagined sharing a bath with the healer before him since Badon Hill. Reaching for the rose-scented tallow soap that one of the servant girls had left for him, he began to rub it across Brigid's shoulders, lathering her skin. He grinned at the moan he wrung from her and continued to wash her back.

"I seem to be getting all the bathing," admitted Brigid with a dreamy smile, her head resting against Dagonet's chest.

Dagonet chuckled and scooped more water to pour over her body. "I have no complaints."

Brigid nodded. "I'm glad," she admitted sleepily.

Dagonet held her in the warm water, smiling when he realized that his lover had fallen asleep. He stood carefully, her smaller form cradled in his arms, and stepped from the bath. He picked up one of the bath sheets provided for the bath and wrapped her in it before laying her on his bed. He wrapped one around himself and quickly toweled off. Turning his attention to his sleeping lover, he began to rub her body with the bath sheet before lifting her again to lay on the bed. Dropping the bath sheets beside the tub, he crossed back to the room, his skin chilling despite the warmth of the fire in the fireplace. He slid into bed and curled against his healer, his arms wrapped around her middle and his hands spread protectively over her belly.

He could just lie with her tonight. Tomorrow would be another story.

TBC….

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

homeric: Sorry to have worried you. I'm glad you like the fact that the women aren't helpless--blame yourself for that inspiration. Well, that and my husband says that I have a latent feminist streak. I agree that Lucan could find himself in a lot of trouble very fast, but what else is a boy to do? Hope that this little reunion (at least the first part) made you happy. Poor knights--they are soooo over their heads. J

shariena: Thank you. I'm glad that you said that. I've been feeling guilty if I'm not posting at least every other day. But I promise, much more is coming. And here's the next installment.

Samantha AKA Anime Princess: Thank you. I'm glad that you are enjoying Brigid's introspection about being pregnant. And I'm also glad that you liked Vanora's reaction. Here's more.

parixs: Sorry that I didn't get your review before. It was probably because I didn't know how to accept anonymous reviews until Homeric (yes, you are a goddess) told me how to. I'm so glad you're enjoying. Don't worry if you've missed some--I seem to be churning it out with frightening regularity. And I won't spoil the surprise as to whether any or all of the knights are alive, though if you've gotten to this point, you already know. J

Saxongirl1345: Yay! I'm so glad that you are enjoying. Sorry that it took so long but here's chapter 14.

Scottishgal12: Glad you are enjoying. And I'm also glad that you're glad that I didn't kill anyone yet. J

Cleopatra32003: I'm glad you're enjoying. And yes--poor Lucan. You do not mess with a military man's daughter if you know what's good for you.

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	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: For the record, I am of the firm opinion that none of the knights are bad looking. I happen to think that Antoine Fuqua is a god for casting seven beefcakes in a movie that I love. And I have adored Ray Winstone since he played Will Scarlet in Robin Hood.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter Fifteen: The Morning After**

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Fulcina paused in her nightly ritual, watching as Lancelot slipped into her room. His eyes were dark and caught her brown eyes in the mirror. She caught her breath at the heat that suddenly filled the room.

"Good evening," offered Lancelot as he shut the door behind him.

Fulcina set down the brush and rose, turning to face the knight. "Welcome home," she whispered, stepping towards Lancelot.

Lancelot was confused. He had wondered at the way Dagonet had carried Brigid from the tavern, the way that Gueneviere and Arthur shared warm looks and the way that Vanora hovered just out of reach of her lover, a smile playing over her lips. He had wanted Fulcina there, to enjoy the company of his friends and their mates.

Not for the first time he wondered at the fact that he and Fulcina had been brought together. She was a Roman and a Christian. He was a Sarmatian and at best a pagan. She was warmth and welcoming. He was all sharp edges and distance.

Fulcina watched the emotions play over this man, amazed as his mobile face showed each feeling and thought so clearly. Lifting her hand to his bearded cheek, she stroked the dark knight.

His eyes widened. How could she know what he was thinking so clearly? He leaned into her touch, eyes closing.

Fulcina waited as the man got his bearings. He was an enigma to her. Her life had never had the darkness and fire that she found with Lancelot. He shook her from the safe existence of wife.

There were no regrets.

Lancelot saw that in Fulcina's eyes when his opened and he crushed her to him, accepting all she gave and giving back even more.

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Vanora was still asleep. It had been a late night after Dagonet had disappeared with Brigid. Tristan, Gawain, and Galahad competed in throwing daggers, as much to amuse themselves as the barmaids who flitted around trying to catch their attentions. Lancelot had disappeared soon after Dagonet had carried off the cook, a small smile on his lips. And Arthur had attempted to keep his eyes and hands off his intended bride.

After Gawain, Galahad, and Tristan had collapsed in various poses of unconsciouness thanks to copious amounts of ale and mead, Bors had taken his lover in his arms and smiled down at her. He had watched her keeping the peace in the bar, separating a more than inebriated Galahad from a mocking Tristan before the two knights could come to blows, and wondered that he had won this fierce beauty.

Bors knew that he was far from the handsomest man among the Sarmatians. He didn't have the mystery of Tristan. He didn't have the dashing wit of Lancelot. He didn't have the tragic nobility of Dagonet. And he didn't have the boyish charm of Gawain or Galahad.

But Vanora chose him. He still remembered the day that she had sashayed to him and planted herself on his lap, whispering dirty jokes in his ear until he had nearly fallen off the chair laughing. They had become lovers soon after and he had never regretted their lives together. Eleven children and fourteen years together had taught him that he should never underestimate his Vanora.

The eldest knight lay on his side, dark eyes watching the majestic mother of his children. For fourteen years he had been a slave to Rome. He had been forbidden from marrying the mother of his children, condemning his children to bastardhood.

His thick fingers swept a dark auburn lock from her forehead, his lips quirking in a smile. Even now, at twenty-nine summers, she was the most beautiful woman in the fortress. She met him blow for blow, shout for shout, and breath for breath. She was his match in every way.

A movement brought him back from his reflections and he found Vanora looking up at him, brown eyes warm and inviting.

The tavern could wait.

Training could wait.

Everything would wait but Vanora.

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Brigid stirred, a powerful arm draped over her waist. Blinking, she found herself facing a sleeping Dagonet. She reached up, touching his cheek. He looked like a far younger man asleep, the years dropping away as he dreamed. Biting her lip, she wondered at what he had seen in his fifteen years of service to Rome. All she knew was the fierce, funny man who had stolen her heart. Dagonet shifted in his sleep, pulling Brigid closer to him. The candles had burned down and out, casting the room into deep shadows. Brigid stretched up, her lips finding Dagonet's in the darkness.

Dagonet's eyes blinked open to find his healer wide awake and kissing him.

"Good morning," she whispered.

Dagonet's lazy smile greeted her. "You slept soundly," he noted.

Brigid blushed. "I fell asleep in the bath, didn't I."

Dagonet nodded, winding a dark red curl around a long finger. "Yes. I thought I was poor company," he teased.

Brigid shook her head, pushing up on her elbow so that she leaned over him. "Not at all, love. Blame the bath but never you," she reassured before she caught the glitter of humor in Dagonet's eyes. "Oh," she growled, smacking his arm playfully.

Dagonet chuckled and gathered his healer to him, reveling in her smaller body pressed to him. He had missed this woman fiercely while they tracked Saxons and fought renegades. For the first time in fifteen years he had something to come home to. Even as the men sat around the fire, sharing stories and jokes, he had kept to himself, smiling at the thought of the woman who was now pressed to him.

While Bors complained good-naturedly about his bastards and the woman who was all but his wife, Dagonet had imagined his return to Brigid.

Never had he imagined that she would fall asleep during his seduction.

"Dagonet?" came the soft whisper.

"Yes, Brigid?" he responded, pulling her a little tighter and running his hand down the length of her arm.

Brigid bit her lip, moving closer to Dagonet and lacing an arm across his waist even as she asked the question she had been dreading. "Will you go back to Sarmatia?"

Dagonet frowned and considered the question. "It has been fifteen years since I saw Sarmatia. My village was burned by the Romans and all my people are dead. I have nothing left to go back to."

Brigid nodded, resting her hand on his heart.

"And you? Will you return to Hibernia?" he asked quietly.

Brigid sighed. "My family died years ago. There is nothing left for me there," she admitted.

Dagonet nodded, holding her tighter, both of them lost in their thoughts.

Brigid lifted her head again, searching his blue eyes. "But I have you," she added. "And you are here. So here is home."

Dagonet's solemn face cracked into a smile and he hauled the healer on top of him so that she straddled him. "I couldn't think of a better home," he whispered before he captured her lips.

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Gawain frowned into his ale and looked around the tavern. The ovens in the kitchen were cold, indicating that the tavern's cook had not yet arrived. The serving maid lacked a certain vicious wit, indicating that Vanora had not yet descended from her quarters above the tavern. And their commander and his second in command were nowhere to be found.

Tristan looked as thrilled as Gawain felt. Galahad groaned from the floor where he had slept the night before. Tristan had at least slept flat on a tabletop, though his hair was now matted with spilled ale. Gawain, meanwhile, had slept slumped over the table and now had a back that ached as if a dozen Saxons had been pounding on it.

A gasp drew his gaze and he found a horrified healer gazing at him. "What in the world did you do?" she demanded, fists on her hips.

Gawain held his head in his hand. "Quieter, please."

Brigid arched an eyebrow and pointed to the fountain outside the tavern. "All of you, into that water. NOW," she commanded, grabbing Gawain from his seat on the bench.

Gawain let loose a manly whimper as his eyes got their first glimpse of morning sunrise. He shut his eyes and staggered to a halt.

Brigid frowned at the unmoving knight. She had gotten him just beside the fountain pool and the reek of stale ale was about to make her lose her small breakfast. She smiled, glad that the knight could not see the devilish glint in her eyes and pushed.

Gawain gasped as he felt himself falling backwards and then felt water splashing over him. He sputtered and sat up, pushing his hair out of his eyes.

Brigid was laughing at him, hands holding her belly as she valiantly tried to stay on her feet. She was not watching behind her and therefore did not see Tristan and Galahad creeping towards her. She did however feel herself being lifted off her feet and dumped unceremoniously into the fountain.

Laughter filled the courtyard, causing the two drunken men who dunked her to hold their heads in pain. "No more!" pleaded Galahad.

Brigid shook her head, pushing her red hair out of her eyes and grinning at the knights. "You'll get no breakfast unless you get in here," she warned.

Suddenly there were two splashes and like shaggy dogs the three Sarmatians began to rinse off the smelly remains of their previous evening.

"Good morning," came the amused voice of Dagonet. He watched as his lover sat in the fountain, splashing water at his fellow knights. Galahad, Tristan and Gawain all had the looks of drowned rats. "Having fun?"

Brigid nodded and stood in the fountain, water running down her clothes and dripping from her hair. "Of course, love," she replied, holding out her hand as Dagonet helped her out of the fountain. "Now, I must make some breakfast for these men since they no longer smell like old ale." Shaking like a wet dog, she showered Dagonet with water droplets before heading towards the tavern, leaving a trail of water behind her.

TBC….

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

Homeric: Heeheeheeheehee. Yay! I'm glad that you enjoyed Dagonet's reaction--it was fun to write. And I just had to treat Tristan (he's one of my favorites). Don't worry, Brigid can handle Dagonet (maybe) and you seem to read Dag's mind quite well. Brava!

BleedingTwilight: I'm so glad that you like it. And I love that you're enjoying Dag. He's such a sweetie. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. J

chrissynmh: I'm so glad that you're enjoying the story. I love Dagonet (gee, never would have guessed) and am glad that you're enjoying his relationship. Yay!

Samantha: I'm glad. I'm enjoying keeping things interesting. And, as requested, here's more Fulcina and Lancelot. J

shariena: Here's more. Hope you keep enjoying. I'm having way too much fun writing this.

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	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story._

Author's note: So it ends. At least this story. I'm already working on the sequel. Bless my husband for putting up with me while I'm writing. And thank you to my wonderful readers for reading and sending feedback.

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**VISIONS OF DEATH**

**Chapter Sixteen: New Beginnings**

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Bors blinked at the men sitting at the table closest to the kitchen. Dagonet was smiling into his breakfast, eyes periodically going to the men seated across from him. Gawain sat between Tristan and Galahad, all three men focused entirely on the breakfasts piled on their plates. Stepping the final step down from the staircase to the above chambers, he shook his head.

"Good morning," breezed Brigid as she swept past Bors, planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek. "Take a seat and I'll bring you breakfast," she promised.

Bors caught her arm gently, nodding towards the table with the knights. "What happened to 'em?" he asked.

Brigid giggled. "They smelled," she whispered conspiratorially before heading back to the kitchens.

Bors shot an incredulous look at his best friend and headed towards the chuckling Sarmatian. "I know that I'm missing something."

Dagonet shrugged and took a sip of the tea that Brigid had brewed as a cure for hangovers. As remedies went, it tasted surprisingly good and seemed to soothe the aches from his body without clouding his mind. "I found the four of them in the fountain," offered Dagonet with an amused smile.

Bors turned his confused eyes to the three wet knights.

Gawain swallowed the eggs he had been chewing and nodded. "No breakfast if we smelled."

Bors looked at Dagonet, raising an eyebrow in realization. "Morning sickness?"

Dagonet nodded, pride in his eyes. If he'd had doubts that his woman was pregnant, finding her crouched over a pot emptying her dinner had cleared them. "Who knew that the smell of ale made her ill."

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The fortress was filled with Woads. Which meant that the tavern was filled with Woads. Men and women drank, argued and wondered at the upcoming wedding on the morning. In just a few days Briton, Roman, and Sarmatian would be bound by the marriage of Gueneviere and Artorius Castus.

Brigid leaned in the doorway to the kitchens, the fires of the ovens long since banked and the food for the evening already ready on tables to be served to Vanora's customers.

"Brigid," spoke Merlin.

The healer glanced over her shoulder at the leader of the Woads. "Ah, Old Man. Enjoying what you have wrought?" she asked, a smile in her voice if not on her face.

Merlin nodded and stepped closer to the seer. He watched at the way her hands rested protectively on her slightly rounded belly, the way she watched the six knights and their future king with a fierceness. "You have been good for him," he offered, eyes on the tallest Sarmatian who was at present talking with Bors as the soon-to-be father bounced Nine on his knee, much to her squealing joy.

Brigid shrugged but blushed at the compliment. "He's good for me, Old Man," she countered.

Merlin smiled at this woman who would always be the slip of a girl who once had made him tell stories of great warriors and their women before being hustled off to bed by the older priestesses. He had fond memories of his time on Ynys Môn, had even found his lady wife and mother to Gueneviere.

This woman before him had changed in the best ways.

"What do you see, priestess?"

Brigid smiled and allowed her eyes to unfocus. The priestess was silent for long moments.

"What do you see?"

Brigid turned grey eyes to her old friend, the dim light hiding the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes. "The future, Old Man."

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The wedding was beautiful. Arthur looked regal and just a little intimidating. The intimidation factor was helped by the fact that there were six very intimidating Sarmatians attending. Merlin was mysterious and blue. And Gueneviere was strong and powerful standing beside her husband.

Brigid leaned against Dagonet's chest, listening to Bors's bastards talking with Lucan while the "dark magician" of the Woads intoned a blessing. Her hands rested on the paws that rested on her belly protectively.

"Now I'm really going to have to marry your mother," grumbled Bors to Eleven.

Brigid chuckled as Vanora took Eleven from Bors. "Who says I'd have you!" Vanora snapped back.

The smirk on Bors face said it all.

_**Who wouldn't want a Sarmatian?**_

**The End **

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**To My Wonderful Reviewers:**

homeric: Somehow I couldn't make Gawain whimper like a girl. And if I wasn't married, I'd be right there with ya toweling him off. I'm glad you liked the perspectives on their relationships, especially Bors and Vanora. I hope you like the sequel.

Saxongirl1345: As promised, here's another chapter. Of course, it happens to be the final chapter of this story. But I'm so glad that you thought I did a good job portraying the knights.

Samantha: Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed that chapter. I enjoyed writing all the different perspectives of the knights and their women. As for the ale incident, would you want to feed them? Okay, so, yummy knights but still, the smell!

shariena: I'm glad you enjoyed. While this story is done, the sequel is now getting churned out. Thank you for your reviews and thank you so much for reading.

Arden Skysender: I'm glad that you enjoyed the story. And I'm glad that you enjoyed Tristan not being a murderous thug. We'll see more of his lighter side in the sequel.

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